


The Magic of Miracles

by BuckytheDucky



Series: TMOM [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body-Swapping (of sorts), Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kid!, M/M, Magic, Multi, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, No mpreg, Pregnancy, Tony Stark Has Issues, and happy times, but definitely smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/BuckytheDucky
Summary: Steve wants a child. This surprises nobody. The only thing questionable is thehow.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic, off and on, since last November. It was originally intended as my NaNoWriMo project, but after the month ended, I walked away because a) I lost motivation and b) I didn't meet the 50k word goal, so it frustrated me. But I decided to join in on Camp NaNoWriMo this year, and the progress I've made on this fic is.... It's astounding. I've got up to chapter 13 written already, and the last 7 plotted out, so here's to hoping I actually finish it! 
> 
>  
> 
> Before we begin, I'd love to give all my thanks to [Carter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigonight) and [Mena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera) for all of their amazing support as I blathered on an on about this fic and all of its weirdness and the parts I couldn't get quite right. If it wasn't for those beautiful, beautiful people, this fic would certainly have not seen the light of day. Also, a huge thank you to [Draco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draconunquamdormiens) for volunteering to beta this. 
> 
> *best drunk-girl voice* I love all three of you, thank you so much.
> 
> Look at the end notes for explanations of tags!

It starts with something so simple, so typical. It’s not anything out of the ordinary: Steve woke up to an empty bed, dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, and went for a morning jog. When he got back, he took a shower and ate a quick breakfast before heading to SHIELD headquarters for weekly debriefing. Fury didn’t tell him anything new, just the usual “We’ve got our eye on a few potential hotspots; we’ll let you know if we need you.” He met up with Natasha for lunch; she joined him on the journey back to the tower. She disappeared on her floor, and Steve made up a tray of food and fresh pot of coffee, then carried to the elevator and down to the workshop.   
  
Tony was elbows-deep in the guts of the newest Iron Man armour. He didn’t look up as Steve came over, even as JARVIS cut the music. Steve sat on the couch, waiting for his partner to finally notice his workshop was much too quiet. Steve has tested how long it would take; he gave in at a record of twenty minutes.   
  
Steve loves watching Tony work. Even though it’s a well-known fact that he’s a genius, it’s always entirely different to see the brilliance of Tony’s brain. His ever-present running commentary, orders and snarks to his AI, and questions to himself mostly go straight over Steve’s head – after all, he’s a super-soldier, not a brilliant engineer capable of the things Tony is – but Steve loves it all, regardless. Even when he and Tony had been at each other’s throats, back in the beginning, Steve hadn’t been able to stop the rush of admiration and awed (albeit reluctant) respect for Howard’s son and all of his accomplishments. The adoration has only grown stronger as they grew closer – then fell in love. Steve thought Peggy would be the rest of his life – his wife, his partner in everything, maybe even the mother of his children –but then he’d had to put the plane down in the Arctic and woke up too damn late for any chance of a life with her, so Steve had resigned himself to an existence devoid of a love shared with someone. Then along came Tony, and Steve has long since realised that Peggy, in all her strong and steady presence, wasn’t meant for him, that Tony is and always will be the dance partner Steve was waiting for. Tony claims that Steve makes him a better person, but Steve knows without a doubt that without his lover, Steve wouldn’t be as happy or well-loved as he is now.   
  
Five minutes pass in silence before Tony suddenly freezes, head cocked slightly to the side. Steve can see the instant that his partner realises it’s lunchtime by the tension easing from Tony’s shoulders. He turns away from the workbench.   
  
It still takes him by surprise every time Steve sees the open beauty of Tony’s smile – his real smile, not the grin he plasters on for the press or galas and events. Tony smiles with his entire face, from the stretch of his lips to the gleam of his teeth, from the slight crinkles by his deep brown eyes to his cheeks masking his high cheekbones. His eyes, however, are the most telling: They’re bright, sparkling with happiness and unending love. Tony may be able to put on a mask that rivals Natasha’s when he needs to, but for Steve, Tony’s eyes will always give him away.   
  
“Lunchtime already? Sweet, awesome. You, Dum-E – no, stop that. Dum-E, give You the ratchet, he had it first. I don’t wanna hear it,” admonishes Tony over the sound of Dum-E’s sad beeping. “Make yourself useful and put away the rest of the tools. Good bot. Maybe I won’t give you away to the community college just yet. Cap? You okay?’   
  
Steve snaps back to reality, away from his thoughts, and gives Tony what he hopes is a steady smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just…lost in thought, I guess.”   
  
“Good thoughts, I hope.”   
  
“Well, they’re about you, so what do you think?”   
  
“I think you should’ve run screaming a long, long time ago, but I’m glad you didn’t.”   
  
Steve waits until Tony has eaten one of the sandwiches and a handful of carrot sticks before asking about the latest project. Tony immediately launches into speech, gesturing wildly with his hands as he describes the changes made, explains why those alterations were necessary. Steve has been on the receiving end of many long-winded rants, but he never stops being amazed at the intricacies and rapid changes in Tony’s thought processes. He leans forward and cuts off the rambling with a gentle kiss. Tony blinks dazedly when Steve pulls away.   
  
“Wha –?”   
  
“I love you.”   
  
“I love you, too, Steve, I really do, but… You sure you’re okay?”   
  
“Yes, Tony, I’m sure.”   
  
JARVIS interrupts then, his voice both apologetic and urgent at the same time. “Excuse me, sirs, but Ms Potts is on her way with paperwork, and her mood is what you have deemed ‘Grade-A dragon.’”   
  
“Right. Of course. Thanks, J.”   
  
“I’ll let you be. Behave, and tell Ms Potts I said hello.”   
  
With one last parting kiss, Steve exits the workshop and heads up the stairs. He reaches the landing right as the elevator dings, and Pepper Potts _click-click_ s across the workshop floor. He makes his way to the residential levels and finds Clint and Natasha in the living room; Clint’s playing a video game, while Natasha lounges on the couch, reading a book. She glances up from the page as Steve nears.   
  
“What’s up, Cap?”   
  
“Can…Can we talk?”   
  
She doesn’t hesitate, just closes her book and nods. “Clint.”   
  
“On it.”

  
Clint quickly removes his hearing aids, drops them to the table in front of him, and resumes his game. Steve chuckles and sits next to Nat. She arches a delicate brow, so he draws in a deep breath.   
  
“I…I want a child.”   
  



	2. chapter one

“I… I want a child.”

The only sign Natasha gives that he heard Steve’s statement - announcement, really - is a slow blink, her dark lashes lowering and staying low for a moment. When her eyes open once more, her expression is blank, the carefully crafted mask she wears when she doesn’t want her thoughts to be found out. Though he knows Clint can’t hear them, Steve glances over at the archer, double-checks that the purple hearing aids are still on the coffee-table. Natasha inhales deeply before placing a gentle hand on Steve’s knee.

“Steve, I love you – or as close to loving a really close friend as I’m capable of. But one, I don’t love you enough for that, even if I _could_ have children. And –”

“ _No_! No, oh god, no, Nat, I-I didn’t mean that I wanted a child with you. I could, would never ask that of you.” He pauses. “You can’t –?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“But this is about _you_. What brought this thinking about? You’ve never talked about having kids before.”

“I… I was in the workshop with Tony, and You and Dum-E were fighting over a tool, I guess, and Tony, Tony was _scolding_ Dum-E, and suddenly, all I could think about was… What if he was scolding _our children_? And I could just see, so clearly, him putting a stop to squabbles between a mini-him and a little blonde girl with pigtails. And I _want_ that, Natasha.”

“Oh, Steve.”

He allows her to pull him in for a tight hug. “Is it so wrong of me?”

“To want a family with the man you love? I don’t think so. But does he even want children?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never talked about it before.”

“This is something you need to bring up with him. C’mon, we’ll do some research into reputable adoption agencies or surrogates.”

“I… I don’t want to adopt. Or have a surrogate. I want our child to have our DNA.”

“I know a lot has changed since you were a kid, but I’m sure they weren’t telling you that men could carry.”

“Of course not,” he snaps, sighing out an apology a second later. “I just thought that if anyone could figure out a way of making it possible, Tony would be that person.” He groans. “Forget it. This is all so stupid.”

Steve walks away before Natasha can say anything else. His mind wanders as he boards the elevator and waits until it stops rising. When the doors open, he’s shocked to see he’s looking out onto the corridor on Natasha’s floor and she’s standing just beyond the lift. He raises an eyebrow; she beckons him into her apartment with a soft smile.

Steve’s never been in her quarters, so he doesn’t really know what to expect. Based off of her personality, he anticipates a bland, unassuming interior, like what he might find in a hotel: Generic patterns, simple basics. But this is something entirely different. The walls are a cool peach, dotted with thought-provoking art. A large, sunny yellow braided rug covers much of the living room floor in front of a plush black couch. Framed photographs line shelves along one wall, and two bookshelves are pressed together and hold dozens of books. In the armchair sits a bright purple pillow in the shape of a devil emoji; a collapsible keyboard-piano rests against the wall beside the couch.

Natasha leads him into the kitchen, getting to work immediately on filling a kettle with water and putting it on the stove. Steve sits in one of the chairs, stays silent while she works. Once the tea is ready, she places a cup in front of him, sets out a jar of jam, and lowers herself into the remaining seat.

“I don’t think anything of what you said is stupid, Steve. A bit unorthodox, sure. Definitely unexpected. But not stupid. You’re right. If anybody in this world could ever find a way of making male pregnancy in humans possible, it would absolutely be Tony, especially for you. Unfortunately, you’ll never know if he wants to try until you talk to him.” She stares at him, green eyes considering. “What would you do if he said no, he doesn’t children and never will?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean, I would be upset at the loss of possibility, but it wouldn’t make me love him less. It’s not something that would make me resent him or leave him. Just a couple days ago, we were on the same page. Neither of us were looking to get married - he has some ridiculous idea that me marrying him would be my worst mistake, and I’m not gonna push him into getting married if it’s not something he wants without being pressured. We’ve never discussed kids, and I’ve never really thought of them before because this job… It’s dangerous for _us_. How much worse would it be for our offspring? So I’ve never let myself want kids.”

“Not even when you were younger, before the serum?”

Steve smiles wryly, without any humour. “I never thought I’d live long enough. Basically, a wife and children? Not on my list of priorities to worry about. It always seemed like it was too much to ask for on top of praying I’d either die to escape the pain of always being sick and my body trying desperately to give up, or that I’d somehow, miraculously, recover from the latest illness without issue.”

“When I was young, before it was trained out of me, I used to wonder if I’d grow up, get married, and have kids. Then the graduation ceremony happened, and now, I’ll never know. If my life had been different, if I hadn’t become a product of the Red Room and my training, maybe I would have. But that choice was taken from me a long time ago.” She sets her mug on the table silently. “Talk to Tony, Steve. Don’t try to take the choice away from him. If you need help, by all means, come to me. Go to Bruce. Maybe even Clint. But talk. To. Tony.”

The penthouse is silent and dark when Steve goes to bed that night. Tony is, according to JARVIS, on a conference call with a higher-up at an SI plant overseas and will be for some time. Steve brushes his teeth, changes into a pair of Iron Man pyjama pants (surprisingly a gift from Ms Potts for his birthday) and a T-shirt, and climbs into the large bed. With a sigh in the face of what’s looking like another night of sleeping alone, he reaches toward the nightstand and pulls out a thick, leather-bound notebook he’d seen in the window of a rundown bookstore last month. He flips to a clean page, puts pen to paper.

_Dear Bucky,_

_I don’t know why I’m still writing to you. But I guess it helps. Kind of makes me feel like before the War, when we’d write letters when something was important but too hard to talk about._

_God, I wish you were here, Buck. It’d be so much easier. Especially right now._

_I was in the workshop with Tony earlier, and he did something that I’ve seen him do a million times before and it just hit me: I want to have a baby with Tony Stark. It’s insane. When we were growing up,_ _you _ _were the one who talked about finding yourself a real nice, pretty dame, settling down, starting a family. We both knew I’d never get the chance, even though you insisted the right one just hadn’t come along yet, all those Brooklyn babes didn’t know good taste if it smacked them in the face while looking like Gary Cooper, and we planned on me being the godfather to your seven children and living in a little place in your backyard. Then I became Captain America and went to war with you, so that meant no chance for either of us. Since I woke up after the ice, I’d had the same mindset as I did back then: Not meant for me. I accepted it. Or at least I_ _thought _ _I had._

_I wish you were here to help me sort this out. Hell, I just wish you were here, plain and simple. Natasha tries, and she’s pretty good at it. But she’s no you._

_Miss you more than ever._

_-Steve_

A sick pain makes itself known as Steve stares down at the faded photograph of his best friend. He knows it’s been over seventy years since he lost Bucky, but it feels like less than one. It hurts so much. He slips the picture back into place between the pages and puts the book in the bedside drawer. There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that tonight is going to be a rough one.

 


	3. chapter two

Tony drops his head into his hands and sighs. The translator is having a difficult time explaining to the plant overseer what Tony is requiring, and Tony himself is starting to nurse a headache of massive proportions. The clock in the corner of the screen reads 2:38am. He knows Steve is already in bed, and all he wants is to join his partner, but… Duty calls, and all that.

Another hours passes with more arguing, until Tony’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it in favour of attempting to sway the overseer’s decision, but he’s cut off by another bout of vibrating. He pulls his phone out and immediately feels his heart drop.

_Captain Rogers needs you, sir._

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. As much as I _love_ debates, this is non-negotiable. You have until Friday to adhere to the stipulations, or SI will cut our losses and close you down. Permanently. Have a good day.”

He ends the call, hurries upstairs to the penthouse. The sound of whimpering forces him even faster, and he nearly runs into the closed door in his rush. Tony flings the door open, catching sight of the bed within seconds.

Steve’s thrashing wildly on the bed, one arm outstretched in the air. His lips are forming silent words; he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his face is twisted like he’s in extreme pain. Tony can’t find it in him to enjoy the sight of red cotton pants decorated with tsum-tsum Iron Man figures, not while Steve’s in the tight grasp of a nightmare.

“JARVIS-”

“Captain Rogers has been dreaming for nearly half an hour, unresponsive to my attempts of waking him up for five minutes.”

“Okay, okay. Steve, baby?” Tony climbs onto the bed but stays out of range of flailing limbs; he learned his lesson the first few times he’d received an elbow to the face and spent the next week sporting a bruise and suffering Steve’s miserable guilt. “Steve, it’s okay. You’re home, in the tower. You’re _safe_. C’mon, sweetie, open your eyes. It’s time to wake up.”

With a shuddering gasp, Steve’s body tenses, locks into place, as his eyes snap open. Tony doesn’t move; he just keeps whispering soft assurances until Steve starts to relax. He finally scoots closer when Steve begins shivering.

_Bucky-dreams then._

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tony.”

“Don’t be, darling. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I promise.”

“Your call-”

“Isn’t as important to me as you are.”

“It’s more-”

“More what? More annoying? Definitely. More exhausting? Depends on what we’re doing, because believe me, you can _definitely_ wear a guy out. But Steve, look at me.” He waits for Steve to lift his head, to be able to see his blue eyes. “There is nothing in this entire world that I would put before you. I love you, and I will always, always, _always_ be there for you when you need me.”

They lay in silence, Steve wrapped in Tony’s arms. Tony presses gentle kisses to Steve’s hair and holds him close.

“I hate remembering it,” whispers Steve after ten minutes of quiet. “I hate knowing that he’s dead because I wasn’t fast enough. I should’ve worried more about him, should’ve reached out for him sooner.”

“Steve, no, don’t do this to yourself.”

“I can’t help it. He’d still be here if I’d focused more on reaching for him, pulling him to safety, instead of that HYDRA agent.”

“No, Steve. Stop it. Stop. All you’re doing is torturing yourself. You did everything you could. Shitty things happen. Terrible tragedies occur. It doesn’t matter if you’re a good or bad person. Life just has a way of fucking people over. But blaming yourself for things you can’t control or change isn’t helping. Okay?”

“You’re right,” Steve sighs as he curls tighter into a ball.

“Of course I am. Genius, remember?”

“Ya know, Peggy said something to me after… After. I always manage to forget it.”

“Yeah? What’d she say?”

“‘Stop blaming yourself. Give your friend the respect of making his own decision.’”

“Peggy Carter was a brilliant woman, and we both agree on this, so stop blaming yourself.”

Steve nods, wiping stray tears from his cheeks, rolling over to curl into Tony. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Wanna try for more sleep?”

At Steve’s affirmative, Tony shifts their bodies until he’s laying on his back with his arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve rests his head on Tony’s chest, one hand coming up to lightly cover the arc reactor.

“J, queue up the ‘Post Bad Dream’ playlist, please.”

Pachelbel’s _Canon in D_ starts playing softly in the background, and Tony lets the piano and Steve’s warmth lull him to sleep.

 

________________

 

“All right, J-man, start the runthrough.”

“Of course, sir.”

Security feed after security feed filters across the holographic screens, and Tony keeps a close eye on the videos. It’s been two weeks since the night of Steve’s nightmare; there have been more, according to JARVIS’s reports, but Tony wasn’t there through them. Either the AI managed to wake the super-soldier or Tony was away on trips for SI. Every time Tony’s learned of a new one in his absence, it feels like yet another way that Tony is failing Steve. He’d never come right out and _say_ it, no, Steve’s not the type to let Tony think that way about it. But Tony sees it differently – he’s _always_ seen things differently – and he knows he’s perilously close to breaking the promise he made.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Next time Steve starts having a nightmare and I’m not here, alert me. I don’t care what I’m doing. He’s… He’ll always come first.” He flails then, a knee-jerk reaction to being surprised. “Wait, go back.”

In the kitchen on the communal level are Natasha and Steve. He stands at the sink, washing dishes, and Nat is doing some sort of yoga pose on the island countertop. Tony watches as she folds herself nearly in half – he may have landed the epitome of perfection that is Captain America mixed with the stubborn, beautiful Brooklyn boy named Steve Rogers, but he can still appreciate such flexibility in another human being. Steve’s shoulders are shaking from obvious laughter. Tony calls out for audio.

“It was one time!”

“So? I’m pretty sure Coulson asked Clint how it was.”

“Oh, geez. It wasn’t even a real kiss!”

“Still a kiss, Cap.” Natasha drops lightly to the floor and pads to the fridge. “Talk to Stark yet?”

Steve sighs, all traces of humour gone. “No, not yet.”

_Talk to Stark? About what?_

“Steve –”

“I know, Natasha. I’ve tried, but he’s been so busy. We all have. Between his company, SHIELD missions, and the occasional AIM uprisings, there’s been little time for just him and me, and I’d rather not spend that time possibly fighting.”

Tony watches Steve’s shoulders slump under the redhead’s hand. She leans into his side, rests her head against his bicep.

“I understand. I do. But maybe you should either accept that you’ll probably fight over this, or accept the fact that you won’t ever have children because you didn’t want to rock the boat.”

Dazedly, Tony waves a hand, and the screen disappears. He manages to sit unsteadily on his workbench, mind racing. Steve wants _kids_? With _him_? Is he crazy? He can hear JARVIS speaking to him, the cool British voice full of concern, but Tony can’t make out the words over the rush of panicked thoughts in his head.

Something pinches his thigh, and he jerks backwards. Dum-E, You, and Butterfingers crowd around him, and damn if the three bots don’t look worried. He draws in a breath, holds it for a count of five, and exhales shakily, repeating the process until he feels more even-footed.

“Call Pepper.”

The CEO picks up on the second ring, but Tony stays silent. It’s as if the ability to speak is suddenly beyond his capabilities.

_“Tony, are you okay? What’s wrong?”_

“Kids,” he chokes out, and Pepper sucks in a sharp inhale.

_“Have you been drinking?”_

“No. I haven’t touched alcohol in – how long, J?”

JARVIS responds immediately with, “It has been eight months, twenty-three days, sir.”

“Right. Almost nine months. Yay sobriety.”

_“Then… Tony, I’m confused. What do kids have to do with anything?”_

Tony sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Steve wants children. With me.”

_“You told me you guys had an unspoken agreement on the whole ‘marriage and family’ front.”_

“We did. This is new, so new, in fact, that I found out five minutes ago on accident.”

_“How do you find something like this out accidentally?”_

“I upgraded JARVIS’s code and was running through security feeds to make sure there weren’t any bugs or glitches, and Steve was talking to Natasha in the kitchen. But it seemed like this was an old conversation, but it’s news to me!” He drops his head to the table. “Pep? Can you say something?”

_“Uh, at least JARVIS’s code isn’t faulty.”_

“ _Ser_ _iously_? Almost two whole minutes of silence, then all you can think to say is ‘At least JARVIS’s code isn’t faulty’? I don’t give a damn about JARVIS right now – no offence, J – because I’m kinda too busy panicking.”

_“Were you even supposed to find out that Steve wants children?”_

“I don’t think so. But it doesn’t matter. I know now. Hence why I’m freaking the fuck out! I can’t… I can’t have kids. I’m a terrible role model. I drink way too more coffee than is considered healthy. I forget about everything, including important dates. I get too busy working in the lab. Literally ninety-five percent of my free time is spent building and designing stuff for SHIELD, the Avengers, and SI. Not to mention that the reason you and I broke up is because I’m fucking Iron Man, and people tried to get to me by hurting you. I can’t do that.”

_“We broke up because of that, yes, but also because of the fact I couldn’t be what you needed.”_

“Did I mention I’m always working?” continues Tony, speaking right over her. “I’d always be gone, in and out of the kid’s life like a ghost. Oh, God, I’d be just like Howard.”

 _“_ ** _Tony_** _! Listen to me. You would never be like Howard. You are a great man. Yes, you’re insanely busy, but you’ve always managed to multitask. And ever since the Avengers formed, you’ve gotten so much better at prioritising. There is absolutely no way you’d ever let work come before your child_ – _if you had one. You have Steve, the team, James, and me. Howard didn’t. Now, I suggest you actually talk to your boyfriend about this instead of freaking out to your ex-girlfriend.”_

Tony groans. “How do I even bring it up? ‘Hey, Steve, just want you to know the private conversation you had with Natasha? Yeah, not so private. So, you want to have kids with me? Are you fucking  _nuts_?’”

_“You’re a genius, you’ll figure it out. Will that be all, Mister Stark?”_

“Yeah, that’s all, Ms Potts.”

_“And Steve isn’t ‘fucking nuts.’ He’s in love.”_

She hangs up before Tony can get a word in. He covers his face with his hands and laughs, because if he doesn’t laugh, he might just freak out some more. By the time he calms himself, his bots are gone somewhere around the workshop, and JARVIS is suspiciously quiet. Tony finishes the runthrough of video feeds, then calls it a night.

If he’s almost wishing he never gave up drinking as he makes his way upstairs for Movie Night…

Well, nobody has to know.


	4. chapter three

Steve collapses onto his side, making sure he won’t crush Tony’s body beneath him, and lets out a content sigh. Tony turns his head and peers blearily at Steve, dark eyes glazed from exhaustion and orgasm. A chuckle works its way from Steve’s chest as he stretches to press a soft kiss to his lover’s bare shoulder.

“You okay?” 

“No,” rasps out Tony. “I think you just fucked my brains out. You _do_ realise I actually need my brain, right? It’s very important if I’m gonna keep you in such a lavish lifestyle.”

Steve laughs. “I’d be happy with a cardboard box by the river as long I’m with you.”

“Oh, God, you’re a sap!”

He doesn’t reply to Tony, instead rolling over and climbing off the bed. His legs tremble slightly but are steady enough to carry him to the bathroom where he wets a washcloth. Tony hasn’t moved except to throw an arm over his eyes by the time Steve comes back. He wipes Tony’s abdomen and groin clean of drying come. Not bothering to waste more energy, he tosses the rag onto the nightstand and curls around Tony’s body.

It’s been two months since his desire to have a child with Tony hit him like a runaway freight train, and it’s just grown stronger every day. There have been a handful of times, just in the last few weeks alone, where Steve has nearly blurted it out; only his much stronger desire to not fight with - or worse, lose - Tony has stopped the words from slipping past his teeth. He’s forced himself to ignore his wants and go about the days like normal.

“I can hear you thinking,” murmurs Tony sleepily. “Stop it.”

“Go to sleep, Tony.”

“What are you thinking about anyway?”

“It’s nothing. Go to sleep. You have a board meeting in the morning.”

“I’ve gone in on two hours of sleep _and_ hungover. I can deal. Steve, seriously, you’ve been thinking a lot lately–”

“That’s usually what humans do, considering they have brains capable of having thoughts.”

“Wow, someone’s sassy, did you not fuck me hard enough to get your sass out? And stop deflecting. What’s been on your mind lately? Tell me ‘nothing’ one more time, and I’ll smother you, I swear to God.”

“I want to have a kid with you,” Steve rushes out before he can stop himself.

The silence is damning: Tony tenses up, his chest completely still as he stops breathing for a moment. Neither of them speak, and, while Steve makes jokes about Tony’s overwhelming inability to be quiet, he would do anything, _anything_ , to have his lover start rambling. Finally, Tony rolls away and out of Steve’s arms.

“You want a kid with me.”

“Yes. I mean, only if you want it, too.”

“Have you _met_ me? Even _if_ I wanted kids, I would be the worst person to have them with.” Tony keeps his gaze on the ceiling, even as he continues dashing Steve’s hopes. “I’m not interested in having children. I don’t have the time or inclination to do so. Sorry.”

“Can… Can we talk about this?”

“Talk about what, Cap? You want kids, I don’t. Not much to discuss.”

“Tony –”

“ _What_ , Steve?”

Steve hesitates, unsure of what he can say without making the situation worse. He’s shocked to hear his voice is steady when he speaks again: “If you don’t want children, that’s fine. But can we talk about why?”  
  
“Sure, why the fuck not. It’s simple, really: I don’t want them. Hey, I was right, it was simple.”   
  
“Can’t you be serious about this?” groans Steve, which is evidently the wrong thing to say for Tony scoots to the edge of the bed and stands up. “What are you doing?’   
  
“I can’t have this conversation right now.”   
  
“Please don’t walk away, not now.”   
  
Tony stops, one leg in a pair of sweats, his T-shirt draped over his shoulder. Steve swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and stares at Tony, at the glow of the reactor in his chest, at everything that makes Tony who he is. There’s an edge to his expression, sharp and angry, but his eyes betray the uncertainty. He sighs, finishes pulling on his pants, and leans against the wall.   
  
“I can’t have kids. I’m not saying I’m not physically able to,” he amends when Steve opens his mouth to question it. “Last time I checked, I had the swimmers. But Steve, I’m not… I’m not the person you should have kids with. I work way too much, I drink too much. I go out and get myself shot and beat up while in a glorified tin can on a semi-regular basis. I own a multinational company which means that not only am I always gone – I mean, seriously, this is the second time we’ve had sex in over three weeks – but I’m also targeted for abduction or assassination, which means people I love are also targets. It’s bad enough that you and Pepper are my biggest weaknesses. I can’t do that to a kid.”   
  
“Tone –”   
  
“Let me finish. Even if I wanted kids, I couldn’t do it. I would be the worst kind of father. I’d never be there for important events; I’d basically be a fucking ghost, because I’d never be home, and if I was, I’d still be too damn busy to spend any time with the kid. I’d… I would be Howard, Steve. And I refuse, flat-out refuse, to inflict that kind of pain on an innocent child.”   
  
Steve gives less than zero fucks as to whether Tony’s spiel is finished or not; he shoves himself to his feet, crosses the room in three quick strides, and pulls Tony into his arms. No words are spoken as they cling to one another, and Steve swallows against the emotions choking him. After a few minutes of just standing there, he leads them back to the bed and shifts them until they’re laying down once more, Tony’s head on his chest, their legs and arms tangled together.   
  
“I am so sorry that the Howard you got wasn’t the Howard I knew, that you never got to know him as I did. But I’ve…heard about what he became, and I can promise you that you’re nothing like him. Even your brilliance surpasses his. Your heart, the way you unconditionally love and care about the people closest to you, your strength… You’re so damn amazing, and it kills me that, because of him, you can’t see exactly what you’re worth – and I’m not talking monetary worth.” He breaths in deeply, tries to curb the swelling emotions. “I’m so in love with you, it’s scary. I thought I knew what love was, back then, but nothing has ever come close to what I feel for you.   
  
“You give so much of yourself away, without asking for a damn thing in return. You’re constantly looking for new ways to protect us when we’re in the field, new ways to make us happy or our lives easier when we’re here at home. Hell, we only have this home because of your generosity. You and I weren’t even friends, just two people who fought for a common cause, and you _still_ opened your doors for me. Clint had been compromised, and you went out of your way to give him a safe space so he could get his bearings in peace. Natasha went undercover in your company, got close to spy on you for SHIELD, but you didn’t hold it against her, just told her to get her ‘shapely ass’ unpacked then meet you in the gym so she could whip you into fighting shape.   
  
“Howard would _never_ have done that, not even when I knew him. He was loyal to only one thing, and that was discovering new ways to test science’s limits. You, though, you don’t trust easily – which is understandable – but when you do? You trust implicitly, and you love fiercely.”   
  
“I still drink and work too much,” interrupts Tony, but there’s no heat, no determination to his voice.   
  
“You haven’t had a drop of alcohol in nearly a year. And you’ve stopped spending weeks at a time in the workshop. You keep slightly more regular hours, sleep at least four hours a night, and spend an average of three evenings a week with the team and five with me. Yes, there are times that I have to pull you from Engineering Land, but I knew that would be an occurrence getting into this relationship, and it happens a lot less frequently than I thought. I don’t mind having to do it. I love watching you work, interacting with the bots. You’re more _you_ when you’re in the workshop.  
  
“Look, Tony, just be honest. If you really don’t want children, tell me, and I’ll drop it. But please don’t say you don’t just because of some fear of turning out like Howard. I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure that you won’t, with or without children. Because I love you very much, and my life would be so empty without you.”   
  
Tony is quiet when Steve finishes speaking. The only sounds in the room are their breathing, the soft hum of the arc reactor, and the nearly-silent whoosh of the air system. Steve wants to say something to break the silence, but he’s said all he can. Anything more will only serve to push Tony too far.   
  
The hour passes slowly; though neither man talks, Steve knows Tony is still awake. His own mind is racing, so he can imagine how much of a shock this must be for the genius. He hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that, but between the way the words have fought their way to the surface in the past few months and the overwhelming urge to be a father, he had no chance of keeping it to himself any longer. He almost wishes Tony would shout at him, antagonise him, pick a damn fight with him, anything but silently allow Steve to hold him tightly like this. Steve presses a gentle kiss to his lover’s hair, letting his fingers dance softly up Tony’s spine.   
  
“Don’t get your hopes up.”   
  
“What?”   
  
Tony shifts against Steve’s side, lifting his face until there’s an unobstructed view into his dark eyes. “I don’t know if there’s even a way of making any of this possible, especially considering who we are, but we can try.”   
  
“That’s all I ask.”   
  
Tony sighs, nods, and slumps back down. Steve resumes the soft stroking against Tony’s back without speaking. He’s just gotten what he wants, but the victory is bittersweet, dampened by the knowledge that Tony Stark, the greatest genius this world will ever know, doubts that he’s good enough to be in a relationship with Steve, let alone be a dad. 


	5. chapter four

“Can we talk?”  
  
Tony glances up from the schematics in front of him. Steve stands in the doorway to the workshop, his hands clutching the tablet Tony gave him the second he began living in the tower; on the blond’s face is an expression of pure determination, supported by the fact his jaw is set, shoulders back. Tony raises an eyebrow but nods his assent.   
  
Steve relaxes minutely, and Tony looks back at his work and asks lightly, “What’s up, peaches?”   
  
“It’s…it’s about the, um, the baby.”   
  
“The baby, right.”   
  
“Tony.”   
  
“No, no, it’s fine. C’mon, let me have it.”   
  
“Have _what_?”   
  
“Whatever you’ve gotta say,” Tony replies with a shrug.

  
“Can you please look at me? JARVIS.”   
  
Tony rolls his eyes as the schematics suddenly vanish. “Don’t use my AI to do your dirty deeds, Cap,” he grouses but does turn toward Steve. “I’m looking at you now. What’s up?”   
  
“I, um, I appreciate how much effort you’ve put into researching adoption agencies and surrogates. This is…a lot more than I thought could be done.”   
  
“But?”   
  
“I don’t want a surrogate. I don’t want to adopt.” Steve sets the tablet down on a worktable. “I mean, both are perfectly acceptable options that I’d love to look into, if there was no other way.”   
  
“You don’t – Steve, you realise men can’t _carry_ the baby, right? We’re humans, not fucking seahorses. Our only choices are adoption or surrogacy, though I’d rather go the former route than the latter, because using a surrogate could go so disastrously wrong. But anyway. There are literally no scientific options available for us to use so you can be pregnant.”   
  
“Well, what about magic?”   
  
Tony freezes, eyes focused on the far wall. His mouth twists in a grimace. _Magic_ . As a purely science-driven man, even the word is enough to make him break out in (imaginary) hives. He’s heard of someone nearby who tinkers with magic like Tony tigers with engineering, and from what Tony’s been told, “Strange” isn’t just the guy’s surname – he’s also an odd fellow.   
  
Beyond the surgeon-turned-sorcerer, Tony isn’t sure there’s anyone else, and he wouldn’t trust them if there is. Science itself, in all its incarnations, has very strict rules (until someone sets out to break the rules, but that’s irrelevant), but magic… Magic has no discernible patterns, and that’s what irritates Tony the most. Sure, he may use engineering to make life easier, better, and to cut back on the amount of actions needed to accomplish a task, but using magic just seems less than cheap, worthless.   
  
“Tony?”   
  
_Great, zoning out – again._ He comes back to reality and blinks until there’s only one Steve standing beside him. “Sorry, thinking.”   
  
“Yeah, I could see that,” chuckles the super-soldier, moving to stand behind Tony; he wraps his arms around Tony’s waist, pulls gently until their bodies are lined up. “What are you thinking about?”   
  
“How I really hate magic.”   
  
“That’s understandable. Loki didn’t exactly make a good example.”   
  
“I honestly completely forgot he used magic. I was too busy hating him for trying to take over the world using our favourite bird-brain.” Tony’s fingers tap out a rapid rhythm against the table. “I guess I can talk to Thor about it, see if he knows anything.”   
  
“Thank you,” Steve breathes, his mouth pressing a soft kiss to Tony’s neck, and Tony huffs out a humourless laugh.   
  
“Don’t thank me yet. We still don’t know if this will even work. Just…please, keep it in mind that it may end up being a case where we adopt.” _Please, Steve, please don’t forget that, because I can’t stand letting you down._   
  
“If it turns out there nothing Thor or Asgard can do, then we adopt.”   
  
Tony nods succinctly and turns his head to accept the kiss Steve is offering, then watches as his love walks away. His body feels colder without Steve wrapped around him, but having an unimpeded view of Captain America’s ass as it shifts side to side almost makes up for it. Once Steve is out of sight, Tony brings up the schematics again. His concentration is shot to Hell, however, being overrun by this latest “Baby Talk.”   
  
“How the Hell am I supposed to ask Thor for something like this?” he sighs. “Can’t you do it for me, J?”   
  
“I’d be delighted to, sir, but I feel a request of this magnitude will be better received if it came directly from you.”   
  
“You’re supposed to make my life easier, JARVIS. Is Thor back on planet?”   
  
“I am unable to reach him through standard means. I have, however, taken liberty to leave a message with Dr Foster, asking that she has him contact you the moment she is in communication with him.”   
  
“Thanks, you’re the best. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”   
  
“I shall remind you of this the next time you threaten to set fire to my server banks. Sir,” adds JARVIS almost like an afterthought, and Tony laughs as his chest fills with pride at the snark in the AI’s tone.

 

_____________  
  


To Tony’s surprise (and slight dismay), Thor is on Earth and back in New York within three days. The god is standing in the corridor outside the workshop when Tony heads down after a very long day of touring the newest acquisition in SI’s roster. Tony, to his credit, doesn’t falter, just breezes past Thor and through the door. Dum-E whirs over immediately, bypassing his creator to pluck inelegantly at Thor’s cape.  
  
“Hello, Dum-E. Please do not try to pick up – Oh, no.”   
  
Tony turns at the loud, distressed beeping and loses it. He can’t stop the hysterical laughter at the sight of his poor bot – the poor, pitiful, _stupid_ bot he’d created shortly after his parents’ death – on his side with his claw still clinging to Mjølnir’s handle. Thor looks caught between laughing at Dum-E’s misfortune and internal debate as to whether he should help the robot. Eventually, Tony takes pity on Dum-E and moves to pry the metal claw from the hammer’s strap.   
  
“Now shoo, go be a nuisance somewhere else.”   
  
“I apologise. I forgot how much Dum-E loves Mjølnir.”   
  
Tony waves a hand dismissively. “Eh, he’ll learn to leave it alone eventually. Maybe. Well, at least it’s entertaining.”   
  
“'Tis true,” Thor chuckles as he follows Tony to a workbench. “So my dear Jane has informed me that you wished to speak to me of a rather important topic.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, I did. Didn’t expect you back so soon, though.”   
  
“There was less to assist with on Asgard than I was led to believe.”   
  
“Oh. Okay then.”   
  
“What is that you need to speak about?”   
  
Tony sighs, deciding to treat it like ripping off a bandaid – one quick motion to lessen the pain, or awkwardness, as the case may be. “Steve wants a baby, but he doesn’t want to go through a surrogate, and he’d rather not adopt, which means he actually wants to _be_ pregnant even though it’s scientifically and medically impossible because hello, he doesn’t have any of the parts required to be a human incubator, so he thought we could – or rather, _I_ could – ask you about any possible assistance you or your world could offer, so here I am, asking you for help, and –”   
  
“You are rambling, Tony.” Thankfully, there’s a smile on the Asgardian’s face, so Tony nods in apology, and Thor’s expression turns serious, thoughtful. He crosses his arms across his broad chest, levelling Tony with a steady gaze. “You said that _Steve_ wants a child. Do you want the same?”   
  
“He and I already had this talk, so let’s skip it, okay? Let’s just go off the assumption that I want what he wants.”   
  
“Of course. I’m unsure exactly of what I could do. If you will grant me a week, maybe less, I can return home and speak to my mother’s court, see what might be an acceptable method to assist you and Steve in this endeavour.”   
  
“Thanks, big guy. Can, uh, can we keep this between us? I mean, I’ll tell Cap we talked, but… The team doesn’t need to know until we have answers.”   
  
“It is a reasonable request. You have my word of silence.”   
  
Thor exits the workshop after a few minutes, leaving Tony with the promise of searching for an answer, and the genius stares at a circuit board without actually seeing it. He feels like a weight has been halved, but now that he’s sent the god back to his realm to find a way of making Steve’s dream of being pregnant a reality, it sinks in heavily that this could really be happening.   
  
“Fuck, I need a drink.”   



	6. chapter five

There’s little fanfare when JARVIS announces the arrival or Thor in the conference room and requests that Steve makes his way there. It sounds so normal that he thinks nothing of it. It’s a common enough occurrence that he has absolutely no expectations of what he’s about to walk into. But even with the bar set to absolute zero, there’s no way he’d ever have anticipated the scene that greets him when he steps through the door:  
  
Thor is, indeed, standing at the head of the sleek black table; his arms are crossed over his chest, and Mjølnir hangs from the hook Tony installed so the god would stop placing the hammer on top of potentially-important files. Tony is already seated in the chair closest to the door, tapping away at the screen of his phone. Steve brushes his fingers against the back of Tony’s neck before examining the remaining people gathered.  
  
Along the far wall stands a group of silent men and women. Two on each end of the line are wearing armour similar to Thor’s battle gear, but the rest are adorned in silken trousers and tunics that shine faintly in the lights. Their garb, however, pales in comparison to what the woman in the chair beside Thor is wearing. Her opulent gown looks like it’s made of spun golden sugar, and thick, honey curls drop elegantly down her shoulders. She shifts her gaze from the clock to Steve’s face, and a soft smile spreads across her face. She glances at Thor, who nods and steps forward.  
  
“Steve, this is my mother, Queen Frigga. Mother, this is Captain Steven Rogers, the one of whom I spoke to you.”  
  
“It is a most wondrous honour, Captain. Thor speaks highly of you.”  
  
“Oh, it’s, uh, wonderful to meet you, as well, ma’am – I mean, Queen Frigga.”  
  
Tony laughs suddenly, causing Steve to jump. “Ignore his awkward behaviour, Ma’am.”  
  
“It is nothing to apologise for, Mister Stark.”  
  
“Tony, _please_. ‘Mister Stark’ was my father.”  
  
Frigga smiles again. “Of course, Tony. Thor has brought forth the request –”  
  
“Sorry, excuse me, not meaning to be rude by interrupting, but Steve, darling, sit your ahh-behind in a chair. Please. You’re making my legs hurt, and I’m not even standing.”  
  
“Right.” Steve sits, shoots a flat look in Tony’s direction, then faces the queen. “Please continue.”  
  
“As I was saying, Thor has brought forth into discussion your plight at length with myself and Odin Allfather. He has been…rather persistent that we offer any assistance in our power.” She sighs softly, exchanging a glance with her son. “I must agree. The situation is much different than one we have been asked to help with, and I have never heard of someone, let alone two people, outside of Lady Jane that Thor has championed so fully for.”  
  
“So…you’re going to help us? Ma’am?”  
  
“Yes, we will.”  
  
Thor grins widely, rounding the table to clap Steve on the shoulder. “You are getting your wish, Captain!”  
  
“How does this work? Because the only thing that’s coming to mind is someone waving a –”  
  
“Do _not_ finish that sentence,” sighs Steve. “I’m begging you, Tony, to keep the rest of that sentence in your brain.”  
  
“Fine,” groans Tony dramatically, flopping his hand through the air in a _Go on_ gesture.  
  
The way Queen Frigga explains the process seems rather straightforward, if a bit different than either Steve or Tony expected: The magic required to allow Steve to experience the pregnancy while still male is complex and carries dangerous risk to both him and the foetus, due to the fact that, even with magic, the male body is incapable of carrying a baby to term. However, a transformation spell is much easier, more stable, and has longer periods of time between re-casting.  
  
A sense of apprehension fills Steve when he realises that _transformation_ and _male_ in the same sentence means that if he goes through with this, his body will no longer be the one he’s had for his entire life. It has undergone changes from his youth, but nothing near this enormity. Tony is surprisingly silent during the explanation, his face a mask of concentration; he doesn’t even blink at the implication that Steve will be in a completely different body for the duration of the pregnancy, birth, and recovery. It’s only when an advisor clears her throat that Steve drags his gaze away from his lover’s face and back to the queen’s.  
  
“There is one more point that must be discussed. Considering that Captain Rogers will be with child, we cannot, in good conscience, accept that his job will put him in danger. If we do assist you, it must be on the condition that he not go into battle.”  
  
“But –”  
  
“Really, Cap? _You’re_ going to argue?”  
  
Steve glances at Tony, taking a deep breath. “Not arguing. But this is going to cut our team down.”  
  
“As long as we have Big and Blond over there, we’ll be fine. Hell, you can still help with strategy alongside Coulson. You may not be fighting with us, but you’ll still be useful.”  
  
Steve’s response is cut off by whispering amongst the queen and her advisor. She holds up a slender hand, and the man falls silent, barely concealing his frustration, but Frigga says nothing of it.  
  
“There may be a way, if you are amenable to the suggestion.”  
  
“What way is this?” asks Tony; his tone is nonchalant, but Steve can see his nervousness.  
  
“Loki.”  
  
“No. Not happening. Nope. Terrible idea. I am not amenable to the suggestion.”  
  
Frigga dips her head in acknowledgment of Tony’s refusal, not looking even slightly surprised. “Your dislike of Loki is understandable, and I lay no blame on you for your feelings. He has done irrevocable wrong, caused so much grievous harm to this world and its people, all in the name of a childhood slight and jealousy. With you I mourn all of the losses Midgard has suffered at his hands. However, I have spoken at length with him. I believe he has seen the error in his judgment.” A derisive snort sounds from Steve’s right, and the queen pins Tony with an intense look. “He has been imprisoned without contact since Thor bought him home. He will be glad, _grateful_ , for this opportunity to begin to making amends. I know nothing will ever repair what he has done, but… This may just be the start.”  
  
“What would the conditions be?”  
  
Tony turns an incredulous stare on Steve, jaw dropped, but Steve avoids meeting his eye. He’s well aware of Tony’s feelings about Loki; Hell, he even feels the same. The distrust and hatred towards the trickster god who wreaked so much havoc are valid emotions, and Steve has no doubts that, in any other situation, he would never involve him in any way. But this possible solution is contingent upon Loki’s involvement, the only answer he and Tony have gotten from anyone. He knows he should say ‘no’, but he wants this _so bad_ that he’s willing to look past the reasons why this is a terrible idea. Judging by the expression on Tony’s face, though, accepting the inclusion of Loki might put a stop to everything before it even begins.  
  
“He will be allowed to use his magic but only to assist in the care of Captain Rogers and the child. He, along with two other sorcerers from my court, will work alongside the Midgardian doctors to ensure the successful delivery of a healthy babe. I will personally see to it that his magic is limited and can only be used for the casting of the spell upon Captain Rogers and, should the need arise, himself so that he can take the captain’s place in battle. I give you my word that there will be no chance for my son to make things difficult.”  
  
Silence falls, and Steve stares at the table. His mind is racing, making a list of pros and cons to the proposal. If they accept Loki, they run the risk of still getting screwed, even with Frigga’s promise. If they don’t, the team is down one heavy-hitter, and it will be like shouting to every villain within the universe, “Come attack us, we’re nearly completely unprotected!” He wants to have a child, yes, but at that cost?  
  
“Can we think about this?” Tony asks, much more quietly than Steve would have expected in such a tense conversation. “Cap and I just need to talk this all over.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Um, where are you staying? Because there’s plenty of room here if you need it.”  
  
Frigga exchanges a look with Thor before nodding at Steve. “That would be appreciated, Captain. Thank you.”  
  
Tony smiles, a thin-pressed twist to his lips, and exits the room. Steve barely manages to suppress a sigh of frustration as his partner disappears. Once he’s led the royal party to the guest floor, he leaves them with a smile, turns, and sets off in search of Tony. JARVIS is, shockingly, no help, ignoring Steve’s requests for Tony’s location. The workshop is empty, the penthouse is dark. Only Bruce is in the communal kitchen; he looks apologetic when he tells Steve he hasn’t seen Tony. Steve even tries calling Pepper who snaps that she’s too busy to be Tony’s babysitter.  
  
Nine o’clock catches him sitting alone in the living room of the penthouse, staring staring at the city nighttime skyline in all of its lit-up glory. There have been no calls or messages from Tony, one text from Pepper to apologise for her brusque manner earlier in the day, and still no straightforward answers from JARVIS. When the silence and loneliness build up to the point of being overwhelming, he heads down to the gym to release the tension.  
  
How could Tony just _leave_ like that? Steve knows he disagrees with allowing Loki anywhere near Earth, let alone the tower, but he’d said they would talk about it. So far the only talking they’ve done is between Steve and Tony’s voicemail. And Steve hates it with every fibre of his being. This lack of communication feels too much like the first they’d met, except now there’s not even the exchange of angry quips and sharp insults.

 

Now there’s nothing.  
  



	7. chapter six

The skies are dark, clear, as Tony flies back home. Rhodey hadn’t been impressed by his impromptu visit – though that could have been the fact that Rhodey was in the middle of a “training exercise” for the Air Force – and he was even less impressed by the situation when Tony explained it. He’d given Tony an exasperated look, shaken his head, and grabbed them both a soda (because Rhodey really is the best and has been a huge support in Tony’s “No more drinking and fucking up my life” endeavour).  
  
Now, after hours of trying to figure out what to do with Rhodey as a sounding board, Tony is still as confused as before. His best friend had been no help (“I don’t like the fact this requires that psychotic asshole, but Tones, you wanna make Steve happy more than anything, which means nothing I say is gonna make a damn bit of difference”); sure, he should talk to Steve about this, as Rhodey was so kind to point out, but when Steve is involved, Tony isn’t logical. Pepper may be right: Tony tends to fixate on the object of his desires. She claims that, with all of his abandonment and daddy issues, he’s a therapist’s wet dream. He knows the description is accurate – for the most part.   
  
Their relationship fizzled long before he decided to acknowledge it. She hung on because she had hopes that he’d change. And he tried, but ultimately, it became a long list of excuses and “After this project, Pep, I promise we’ll go to Paris or somewhere equally fantastic, just the two of us, sorry our plans have to be put on hold, found something slightly more important than our relationship and your happiness.” He’s still shocked that she stayed with him as long as she did; it’s taken a while, but he’s finally past the angry-at-himself stage for fucking up so much. It helps that she wouldn’t let their friendship deteriorate. Once they had their time apart, they became closer than even in the best times of their relationship. She was the one who forced him to confront his feelings for Steve, and that was an awkward conversation.   
  
Tony hovers in the air, staring at the city bathed in fuzzy orange glow, at the hazy night sky. Sucking in a deep breath, he lands on the landing pad and allows the mechanism to remove the armour as he heads inside. The living room beyond the glass doors is dark, though the lights slowly illuminate the room to show it’s empty. He knows the hope is in vain, but he checks the bedroom anyway.   
  
“Where’s Steve?”   
  
“Captain Rogers is in the gym.”   
  
“How long?”   
  
“He has been there for nearly two hours.”   
  
“Of course he has. Thanks, J.”   
  
Tony gives the room another long look then turns away from the dim shadows. When the elevator stops, he hesitates, just a breath’s length, but steps off the lift anyway. He stops in the doorway to the gym, watches as Steve pummels a heavy bag over and over. His shirt clings to his skin, emphasising the ripples of his muscles as he jabs, crosses, right hooks. The sound of fists meeting canvas echoes eerily in the large space; the slick shine to his skin is the only sign that he’s exerting any amount of energy. Tony stays silent, leans against the wall, and waits.   
  
“Are you done running away?”   
  
Steve doesn’t even glance in his direction, merely continues punching the bag, and Tony sighs. “I’m sorry. I just… I needed someone to help me sort my thoughts.”   
  
“I thought that was supposed to be me.”   
  
“I – Look, Steve, I needed an unbiased opinion. You’re dead-set on following through with this, and I, I get it. I get _why_. Talking to you about this when it’s such a jumble in my mind would’ve been a mistake. I would’ve said something stupid and thoughtless, and it would either start a fight or hurt you. And it would kill me if I did that to you. Yes, I should have – Jesus, Steve, can you _stop_ so we can talk?”   
  
“I’m listening,” mutters Steve even as he ceases his assault on the punching bag.   
  
“Here, let me.” Tony walks to the blond’s side and slowly unwraps his hands, wincing at the raw skin. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry. I know I should’ve at least told you I needed a bit of space. There was just so much in my head, and I wasn’t thinking straight. But I think I’m ready for this conversation now.”   
  
Steve nods once, a succinct motion, turning away from him. Tony follows him onto the elevator; the ride is silent, and Tony fights the urge to crack a joke. He knows it isn’t what Steve needs. So he remains quiet as Steve disappears into their bathroom, strips his clothes off with single-minded precision, and steps into the large shower. The water starts up a moment later, but Steve makes no move toward cleaning himself. He just stands under the spray, staring straight ahead at the wall. Tony watches through the pebbled glass doors until the sight of his partner is obscured by steam; by then, his worry, his guilt, has climbed to new highs. He unzips his pants, letting them fall to the heated tile beneath his feet, and pulls off his shirt. Steve doesn’t react as the brunet opens the door and steps in behind him, close enough to feel the slight trembles in his muscles.   
  
“I’m so sorry.” Tony rests his forehead against Steve’s shoulders, closes his eyes against the spray of water. “I am more sorry than I could ever say, that should be impossible considering I never shut up, but it’s true, Steve. I’d take my whole ‘escape from the freak out instead of talking to the man I love more than anything’ back if I could. But I’m here now, ready to talk this over and even stay quiet the entire time if that’s what you need from me.” He sighs. “How can I make this better?”   
  
“I don’t know.”   
  
Tony winces at the hollowness in Steve’s brusque reply. _Fuck_. “I’ll do anything, Steve. Name your price, and I’ll pay it.”   
  
“Money won’t solve everything, Tony,” snaps Steve, which makes Tony happier than it should because, hey, yay emotions!   
  
“Good thing I wasn’t talking about money.”   
  
“I…”   
  
“It’s okay, babe. Take your time. Let’s just… Let me take care of you. We can talk about this after.”   
  
Steve doesn’t speak but allows Tony to turn his body. Tony, to nobody’s surprise, takes a (not so quick) moment to rake his gaze over his partner’s body, appreciating the solid wall of muscles and, quite frankly, beautiful form in front of him. Before his cock can get too excited at the sight, he shakes his head (mentally; he doesn’t want to freak Steve out, he’s not an idiot), and grabs the blue mesh sponge and body wash. He can see the tension slightly lessen in Steve’s body with each swipe of the sponge; pressing a soft kiss to the underside of the blond’s jaw, Tony lowers himself to his knees and gently scrubs at the legs he loves wrapped around his hips in the middle of the night. His hands burn with the desire to bring Steve to hardness, stroke him until he’s a trembling mess, but that would be counterproductive to the goal Tony is striving toward, so he avoids the temptation as much as possible.   
  
His own cleaning isn’t nearly as soft or slow. Within minutes, he steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist, and pulls Steve out of the stall. Tony’s heart flutters at the small upwards tilt to Steve’s lips. Once he’s dried off Steve’s body, they make their way into their bedroom.   
  
“What are you doing?” Steve asks when Tony starts pushing against his back.   
  
“Lie down. C’mon, Steve, just humour me, please.” He waits as the super-soldier rolls his eyes but climbs gracefully onto the bed, tummy to mattress. Tony straddles the back of his thighs and runs his hands down the tense muscles from shoulder to the curve of his ass, kneading his knuckles into the knots. “I, uh, talked to Rhodey about all of this. He, of course, was no help, but he made it very clear that I, I would do absolutely anything if it meant making you happy. And he was correct, as usual. Because your happiness means… It means everything to me. So if you, if you actually want Loki involved, if you’re okay with his helping us, then I’m – well, I’m not _okay_ with it, but I’m willing.”   
  
Steve rolls onto his back with an ease and speed that Tony doesn’t anticipate. “Really?”   
  
“Yeah, babe, really. I love you, and I’m completely capable of putting aside my dislike of the psycho- demigod long enough for this to work.”   
  
Steve tugs him down and wraps him in a tight embrace. Tony allows it, nuzzles his face into the crook of his lover’s neck (and Jesus, when did he become a damn cat?); he stays quiet, letting Steve process everything. The whole ‘analysing everything before making a decision, at least when it counts’ is what made Tony accept the fact that Steve has never been just a teammate.   
  
The first kiss between them was… Tony will never call it a mistake, but it certainly hadn’t been his intention. It had happened after a stupid training/“bonding” exercise mandated by Fury, one that took nearly three days of gruelling effort, hard work, and quick thinking to complete. It was Tony, Steve, and Clint against Natasha, Thor, and the newbie, some guy Steve met in DC – Sam – who’d become a surprisingly great addition to the team. The teams were released at opposite ends of an underground labyrinth full of traps and dead-ends. Between the simulated (thankfully non-fatal) dangers and lack of sufficient sleep, all of them were running ragged, even Steve, by the time Team Good-Looking-Minus-Clint-But-What-Can-Ya-Do managed to overpower and defeat Team Shut-Up-Stark-We-Don’t-Need-A-Name. In the silence following the announcement on the loudspeakers, Clint’s sudden shouting of _Fuck yes, we’re the best, oh yeah, aw, Nat, no, not the face_ was startling but easily ignored as Tony gave in to the absolutely insane urge, grabbed Steve by the face, and captured his mouth in a hard, hot kiss.   
  
To everybody’s surprise, Steve had kissed back with abandon, shoving Tony against the wall and giving just as good as he got. Well, not as good, because Steve was a truly terrible kisser, but Tony didn’t hold it against him; after all, he hadn’t had any practise since the 40s. But it was the absolute best kiss Tony could remember ever having participated in, and they’ve only gotten better since then.   
  
“I don’t want to do something you’re not comfortable with.”   
  
“It’s worth it if it makes you happy,” replies Tony on a soft whisper, with a kiss pressed tenderly to Steve’s shoulder, and he knows it’s a cliché but it’s also so fucking true. “I promise I won’t resent you for this decision. I’ll be able to handle having to deal with him until we’ve got our – our baby, oh fuck, our _baby_ , Steve…”   
  
“So we’re doing this?”   
  
“Yeah, if you’re sure.”   
  
“We’re doing this.”   
  
Tony ends the conversation by sliding a hand along Steve’s abs, swallowing the sighing moan as it passes through Steve’s lips. Though he can feel the panic already starting to rise, he pushes it aside to focus solely on Steve and making the next few hours pass in much more pleasant ways than warring with his self-doubt. 


	8. chapter seven

Tony is out of bed before the sun peeks over the horizon the next morning, heading out the door with a quick apology for not being able to stay talk to Thor’s mother. Steve selfishly monopolises more of his time in the communal kitchen before his partner can fully leave. Unfortunately, JARVIS can prevent people from walking into the occupied room, but the AI can’t stop Pepper Potts from calling Tony’s phone while his cock is buried in Steve’s mouth. Steve finds himself hating the fact the woman has the override codes, even as he finishes swallowing and wipes at his lips and chin to remove any evidence. Tony gives him an apologetic smile, lingering kiss, and fervent _thank you_ before disappearing into the elevator.

Steve sighs, willing the burning flush in his cheeks to recede, and leans against the counter. The spacious room is much too quiet without Tony, without his soft gasps and whispered encouragements, his choked-off moans as his thighs trembled and his fingers twisted in the blond locks. With a steadying exhale, Steve pushes the latest memory aside and busies himself with making breakfast.

Bruce ambles in half an hour later, attention firmly on the tablet in his hands. He doesn’t look up even as Steve slides a spinach-and-egg white omelette before him, just mumbles a quick _thanks, Steve_. Steve smiles to himself, begins preparing the pancakes Clint loves so much. By the time the last one has been flipped onto an oven-safe dish to warm, the archer has surprisingly stumbled his way into the kitchen, poured himself a mug of coffee, and gulped it down; Steve is still impressed by Clint’s lack of wincing, even though his mouth and throat are more than likely scalded.

“Where’s Natasha?”

Clint shrugs sleepily. “Got called out or slept in or something.”

“Yes, because _that_ was helpful.”

“Ask me again when I’m awake.”

“Why are you even up now? It’s barely seven.”

“Fury wants me in for a ‘performance review’ by nine.” Clint chuckles, a bitter, humourless sound. “Basically, he wants to explain, in full detail, exactly why no one other than Coulson will sign on to be my handler. I mean, do I _really_ need to hear, for the fiftieth time, that I create a ‘hostile work environment’ for people who aren’t a robot like –”

“I suggest you not finish that sentence, Agent Barton. Good morning, Captain Rogers, Dr Banner.”

“Good morning, Agent Coulson. Would you like some breakfast?”

“No, thank you. I just came for Stark’s latest designs on the Quinjet and to make sure Barton makes it to the meeting on time.”

“Aw, sir, don’t you trust me?”

Coulson’s expression doesn’t change, but Steve can see the amused glint in his eyes. “I didn’t schedule enough time to remind you of all the ways your sense of self-preservation leaves something to be desired, so unfortunately, Barton, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“You just missed Tony,” interjects Steve, because the mischievous, manic grin on Clint’s face, quite frankly, scares him. “I could have JARVIS alert you whenever he gets back.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

“I shall make a note of it, Agent Coulson.”

Steve nods once the AI finishes speaking and leaves the kitchen. The doors to the elevator shut behind him before he can hear the extent of Clint’s reply; then again, “With all due respect, sir,” rarely prefaces anything pleasant, especially coming from the archer. A small smile spreads across Steve’s lips as he allows JARVIS to direct the lift to the gym. When he steps off, he sees Natasha in the obstacle course. Her hair is pulled back in a tight braid, winding like a flat, bright red snake along the base of her skull. Steve just barely resists the urge to look away at the sight of so much creamy skin exposed by her leggings and black athletic bra. Watching her in motion, even against holographic enemies, is an extraordinary thing: She moves with incredible agility, manoeuvres with unbelievable grace. It’s mesmerising, almost like a dance – a very violent, inhumanly deadly dance. She uses her weight as leverage as she hurtles toward the wall, takes a few running steps up the thick concrete, and flips. The blue-tinted figure disappears in a flickering mass of simulated electrical sparks from her Widow’s Bites, and she lands lightly on her feet.

“Hey, Cap.”

“Hey. How many?’

“Thirty, thirty-five. Lost count after the first wave. Thanks,” she murmurs as she takes the water bottle he holds out. “Stark really outdid himself when he programmed this.”

“Yeah, he really did. It’s amazing.”

“Speaking of Stark, have you talked to him about what you want?”

He crosses the gym to the treadmill, Nat following closely behind. “It’s…come up.”

She doesn’t speak, merely steps onto the treadmill next to his and starts it up. Steve tries not to give in, knows it’s what her silence is designed for, to force someone to give answers by making them feel overwhelmingly uncomfortable. The rational portion of his brain knows this. Unfortunately, his tongue has other plans.

“We’ve been trying to find a way of making it possible. He wasn’t really happy that I even wanted a…it with him, but he’s come around to the idea. So we’ve spent a lot of free time looking for answers.”

The smile she gives him is soft, unguarded. “I’m glad. You’ll let us know?”

“Of course.”

He ignores the stab of guilt at keeping this from her, but he justifies the secrecy with the excuse of not having talked to Queen Frigga yet. Natasha continues her jog, unaware of Steve’s inner dialogue; he sighs, steps onto the treadmill, and presses the power button, hoping he can somehow outrun his emotions.

 

 

Thor pokes his head through the doorway, expression thoughtful. “Have you time to speak?’

“Yeah,” sighs Steve; he puts away the charcoal he's been using. “C’mon in.”

“Wonderful! My mother wished not to intrude, so she has asked me inquire as to whether you and Tony have come to decision.”

“We…talked about it a bit.”

“If there is anything I or my mother can do to assuage your doubts or fears, please let me know. You are my brother in all but blood, as is Tony, and seeing your heart’s desires come to fruition would do us an honour.”

“It’s just, well, it’s Loki.”

Thor leans back in the spare chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and nods sagely. “Of course. As my mother has promised, she will place the strictest of safeguards on him, on the use of his powers. I am vowing to you now that I will never be far from his side until he returns to our home realm.”

“Does it have to be him?’

“Loki is a rather skilled fighter. My mother’s court may have some training in physical combat, enough to allow them the chance for survival against a foe, but it is nowhere near the level Loki has received as a prince. He learns quickly and, once he focuses, he is quite a proficient tactician. With training, he shall improve enough that our adversaries will not know that you are not the one on the battlefield.”

Steve nods, blows out a breath. “Right. Right. So, uh, how do we do this?”

“That is best left to Mother.” Thor stands, claps a hand to Steve’s shoulder, and heads toward the door. “I shall go speak with her now, so that a plan can be put into place.”

“Thanks, Thor.”

The god merely smiles, a bright smile that never seems out of place on his face, and disappears down the corridor.

The regal party departs from Earth that evening, leaving Steve with the promise of a speedy return. Tony enters the penthouse late, even by his standards. Steve has already showered, written a letter to Bucky, and finished The Things They Carried by the time his boyfriend stumbles in; his suit is rumpled, and his hair sticks up at odd angles. Steve feels a shot of anger flit up his spine as he avoids watching Tony unsteadily make his way around the room. Once he’s dressed in a pair of worn sweats, Tony climbs into bed, scooting closer to Steve immediately. He rears back when Steve doesn’t open his arms for him like he normally does.

“Cap?”

“So how was your day.”

“Long. Busy. Hectic. Terrible. I’m glad to be home, god, this bed –”

“Yeah, my day sucked, too. I mean, I talked to Thor, so he and his mother are back on Asgard now. Just gotta wait for them to come back.”

“Did…did I do something wrong? Because you’re acting weird, and if I somehow managed to fuck up despite not even being within a block of the tower all day, tell me now so I can fix it.”

“Are you drunk?”

The words slip out, sharp and acidic on Steve’s tongue, and he wants to take them back immediately. But with as much as he regrets the way they’re said, he also desperately wants an answer. Tony is still, so still, then he pulls away from Steve slowly. His movements are controlled, his jaw is set. A hardness is in his eyes, and Steve can’t take his gaze off of him.

“Am I drunk? I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in damn near a year, and you think I’d suddenly get drunk because what? I was bored or something?”

“How am I supposed to know your reasons? I’m not Pepper or Rhodey or JARVIS. Maybe it’s because you suddenly changed your mind about having a child!”

“I changed my mind for _you_ , Steve. Why is this a problem now, out of absolutely fucking nowhere?”

“I don’t want you to regret this!”

Steve snaps his teeth together. The room is doused in stunned silence after his shouted admission. Tony takes a deep breath, then another, then a third. Steve rolls onto his side away from Tony, away from the unreadable expression on his face. He feels the bed dip behind him; an arm drapes over his waist. The cold glass covering of the arc reactor presses against his back, and Tony curves his body along his.

“Steve, darling, there is nothing I could ever regret when it comes to being with you. Yes, I changed my mind, but you have to believe me, I wouldn’t have done it, I wouldn’t have said yes to any of this if I didn’t want to change my mind. Yes, I’d prefer if we didn’t need Loki, but babe, I…I’ve actually kinda gotten used to the idea of a mini-you. I promise I won’t regret this. How could I? I’m going to be doing this with you, the man I’m so incredibly in love with, it’s terrifying.

“I’m not drunk, I swear. I’ll even do a sobriety test or-or a blood alcohol content test. But I haven’t been drinking. I’m not drunk. I am, however, insanely exhausted. I’ve been on my feet all damn day, dealing with idiots, trying not to throttle people in R&D because they can’t understand anything.”

Steve swipes a hand over his face and is shocked to feel tears on his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t – Well, actually, be sorry, because you jumped to the worst possible conclusion, so being sorry is completely acceptable.” Tony tightens his grip, nuzzling into Steve’s neck. “If I could make a suggestion, though? Ask outright, preferably without the judgement, and…I cannot believe I’m the one saying this, but don’t keep things bottled up, especially if it has to do with our relationship. We’re gonna have a kid soon-ish, so we better start working on our communication skills now.”

“I know. I…I tried calling you, but JARVIS told me you were unavailable, and when I asked what had you so busy, he wouldn’t tell me. Guess it never occurred to me that it was actual business, not you drinking to drown your regret.”

“If I had regrets, I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell Rhodey or Pepper, and they’d nag you until you gave in and told me,” chuckles Steve as he rolls to face Tony.

“That’s it! I’m telling Pepper you said she nags. JARVIS, make a – mmpf!”

Steve laughs outright when his palm is licked where it rests over his partner’s mouth. “JARVIS, please don't.”

“I shall belay the order until you two have come to an agreement as to whether I should or should not.”

“Your AI is snarky, Stark.”

“I know, I’m so proud,” Tony sighs, pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “What’d you tell Thor?”

“I told him we were doing it. The plan,” he amends at Tony’s leer and lascivious eyebrow waggling.

“You are no fun, Captain Wet-Blanket. Do you wanna practise anyway?”

“Tony.”

“Oh, c’mon, Steve. It’s been a very, very, _very_ long day.”

Steve laughs quietly. “Yes, it has, which is why I’m going to sleep.”

“Don’t do this to me, light of my life. I need your body.”

“Hey, Tony? Shut up.”

Tony’s laughter is muffled by Steve’s kiss, the sound morphing into a gasp when Steve slips his hand beneath the band of his sweats. The brunet arches up; his cock is hot and hard in the circle of Steve’s fingers, and Steve nips gently at Tony’s collarbone. He still feels terrible for how he reacted earlier, but the feeling of Tony beneath him, the taste of Tony’s kisses and skin, the scent of motor oil and cologne and sex… It’s all overwhelming him in the best of ways, so much so that he’s having a hard time remembering what they were arguing about.

There’s something odd in JARVIS’s voice when he announces Thor’s presence in the communal living room and strongly urges Steve to make his way there. Though announcements of the inhabitants’ comings and goings are common enough to hear, the AI rarely speaks in anything other than a calm, even cadence, his tone smooth and soothing. So at the lack of normalcy in JARVIS’s voice, Steve immediately hurries out of his art studio, not bothering to pack up his supplies, and rushes down the stairs.

Thor stands in the centre of the room between the couch and television, hands help up in a placating manner. Natasha is deadly still; her face is a hard mask, and her green eyes are full of icy, calculating fury. One of her hands is at her waist, and Steve is almost surprised to realise she’s still carrying knives around as if she expects to be attacked in her own home. Then he reminds himself it’s Natasha, of course she’s armed no matter where she is. What gets the most of his focus, though, is the fact that Clint has an arrow nocked and drawn in his ever-present bow, aiming at Thor, his face pale with rage.

“Can I, Cap?” he grits out shakily, but his arms are steady.

“What? No, you can’t shoot Thor!”

“It’s not Thor I wanna shoot.”

Steve exchanges a look with the Asgardian prince – then freezes. Thor isn’t meeting his gaze.

And he’s not alone.

“What's going on, Thor?” When he receives no answer, Steve turns to the other two. “Guys, can you clear out?”

Natasha’s eyes flick in his direction, but besides that small movement, she doesn’t twitch a muscle. “You sure, Steve?”

“Yeah, go on.”

It takes Natasha whispering in his ear to force Clint into action. His arms drop in a jerky motion, and he turns on his heel and stalks out of the room. Nat follows immediately after with one last glacial glare at Thor and his guest. Finally, the trio are alone, and Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to keep a steady head.

“Thor? Please, please, explain why he’s standing in the middle of the living room.”

Thor picks up Mjølnir from the floor, placing the hammer on the shelf. “I was unaware that Clint and Natasha would be here. I did not want to presume that arriving outside of the floor that you and Tony share would be acceptable. We were attempting to make our way down to the workshop, but unfortunately, our arrival did not go unnoticed.”

“Obviously.” Steve sighs, sits on the couch. “Where is the rest of, of your mother’s court or whatever?”

“They have made use of the guest quarters near my own. At the risk of being too forward, I allowed them passage the moment Clint drew his bow.”

“Yeah, that… That was probably the best idea.”

“Captain Rogers, if I might speak?”

Steve gestures a hand toward Loki. “Go ahead.”

“I am aware of how our first interaction has coloured your opinion of me, and I… I accept that. The way I behaved is unforgivable, and you and Mister Stark have every reason to have said ‘no’ to my involvement. Declining would have been fully understandable. So I thank you for allowing me this opportunity to begin making amends.”

Loki clasps his hands behind his back, gives Steve a small smile, and falls silent. Steve kneads at his forehead with one hand and pulls his phone from his pocket with the other.

**To: Shellhead** _You might wanna come home soon. Thor’s back._

“I, uh, I guess go ahead and take Loki to his room. I’ll call a team meeting once Tony’s home.”

Thor nods once, grasps his brother by the elbow. Steve watches them step onto the elevator, then leans back into the couch. He stares out the large window at the cityscape beyond. A bone-deep sigh escapes him, and he feels a flicker of dread flare to life, coupled with doubt. For the first time since he was hit with the desire for a child of his own, he’s not as certain that he can do this.


	9. chapter eight

His phone vibrates across the table, a loud dance that is annoying enough to cause Pepper to stumble in her speaking. She cuts a frosty glare in Tony’s direction before pushing on; he smiles apologetically, grabs up his phone, and hastily unlocks the device. _You might wanna come home soon. Thor’s back._ Tony double-checks that the board members are paying attention to Pepper (or at least, pretending to pay attention) and types back a response.

**To: Mon Capitan** _Do I need to make an emergency exit? Or can it wait until after this meeting?_

**From: Mon Capitan** _Pepper will kill you, and then me, if you left without the world being in danger. It can wait._  
 **From: Mon Capitan** _I love you._  
 **From: Mon Capitan** Now pay attention!

Tony smiles and puts his phone down. Unfortunately, within minutes, his brain is wandering away from the board meeting and toward new designs for the armour, weapons systems for the War Machine, upgrades to make the holographic interfaces even faster and easier to use. The meeting ends, thankfully without Tony dying of boredom; he waits until the last board member leaves the room before turning to Pepper. She has a contemplative, appraising expression on her face and a soft smile on her red lips.

“Stop with the face. Oh, you know exactly which face you’re making, so quit trying to look so innocently confused.”

She laughs then, gathering up her files. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. But speaking of faces, I’m sure I can figure out the reason for yours.”

“Genetics, really. No plastic here.”

“You know what I mean. How are things with you and Steve? I’m going to guess they’re going well if that goofy smile is any indication.”

“They really are,” chuckles Tony, unable to stop the smile from taking residence on his face. “It’s actually kinda terrifying.”

“That’s good, though. Keeps you on your toes. And the, uh, request?”

“The re… Oh! Yeah, that’s happening, too.”

She gasps. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“Uh, not at a board meeting, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” She nods, slides the files into her bag, and stands. “I’ll come by the tower soon, so we can talk. Stay out of trouble, Tony.”

“You know me –”

“Which is exactly why I’m telling you to stay out of trouble. Would that be all, Mr Stark?”

“Yes, thank you, Ms Potts.”

She presses a gentle kiss to his hair on her way out of the conference room. Tony rereads the last few messages from Steve before standing and exiting. He hurries past a group of employees, into the elevator, and through the lobby once he’s on the ground floor. Happy is waiting by the main doors, looking sharp in his black suit, gaze scanning over everyone in sight; he nods at the security guards stationed around the bright lobby before leading Tony from the building. The drive back to the tower is filled only with the sounds of a game on the radio. Once the car is parked in the underground garage, Tony slides out and bids Happy a farewell. He leans against the wall of the lift that will take him inside, sighing.

“J, where’s Steve?”

“Captain Rogers is in the penthouse, sir.”

“And Thor?”

“Thor and his guests are in his quarters.”

“Did anybody see them?”

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately, their arrival did not go unnoticed by Agents Barton and Romanov.”

“Of course. Because my life isn’t complicated enough.”

Tony steps off the elevator and straight into a waiting Steve’s arms. He allows himself to melt into the comfort of the super-soldier’s embrace, breathes in deep the scent of everything so purely Steve. When they separate, he drops his briefcase onto the floor and heads to the kitchen.

“So Natasha and Clint saw our special guest, I hear.”

Steve sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, they did. Clint damn near shot him in the face, and I thought Nat would stab him if Thor hadn’t been there.”

“Fantastic.” Tony drops a lemon slice into his glass of water. “I guess we should explain everything.”

“It’s probably for the best. I was planning on calling a team meeting for after we talk to Thor and Loki.”

“Okay. Is this a bad time to say ‘Honey, I’m home’?”

“Not a very bad time, no. I’m glad you are. I missed you.”

“You just want me to create something awesome to distract Katniss from killing our best shot at having a family.”

“That, too,” laughs the blond as he dips his head and kisses Tony lightly.

“Let me change, then we’ll talk to our resident gods.”

The pair is outside of Thor’s apartment within minutes. Tony stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans, smiling when Steve frowns at the fact he can no longer lace their fingers together. Steve knocks on the door; the huge, unearthly god grins widely once he sees them. He ushers them inside quickly, and Tony forces a smile in Loki’s direction before taking in his surroundings.

The walls, a shade of molten gold, are bright with the reflection of the midday sun through the windows, and swaths of silken cloth are draped over the thick sofas and chairs. Tony’s feet sink into the plush white carpeting. Incense sticks send out waves of earthy, spicy aromas that make Tony think of hearths and hot fires in an open field. Members of Frigga’s court have situated themselves around the living area; Loki stands behind the counter in the kitchenette, fingers tapping out a soft, rapid rhythm against the dark marble countertop.

“How does this work? Like, do we do a dance naked in the middle of a blossoming field under the first full moon of the harvest season? What?”

To his credit, Thor’s smile doesn’t dim – much. “Loki will cast a transfiguration spell upon Steve when you are ready. He will remain at your service until after the recovery from childbirth. He has accepted to take Steve’s place in battle by transfiguring himself to take Steve’s form, which will end the moment he arrives back in the tower, as we’ve discussed before. The spell will need to be recast periodically, but it will be effective until the end, I can assure you.”

“He’ll have to do some training before this happens,” Steve announces. “If he doesn’t learn to move the way I do, no one’s going to believe he’s me.”

“Of course.”

“I am a fast learner, Captain Rogers. I am quite certain that no one will be unconvinced. “

Tony clears his throat, and five faces swivel toward him. “Loki will have to be under constant supervision.”

“Tony –”

“No, no, listen, hear me out. If everybody thinks he’s Steve when he’s out there, that includes any and every single bad guy who’s desperate to their dirty hands on the serum. That means they’ll try to abduct him if given the chance. Ergo, the need for constant supervision. Not only to keep him from fucking us over, but for his protection.” He glances at the pale trickster, who stands tall and stoic in the face of, well, everything. “Do you – do you think you can handle that? Can you handle the very real probability of being kidnapped and tortured for your blood, all because you’re in the form of someone else? Because I can promise you that it could very well happen. All it takes is looking away for a split second at the wrong time.”

“I can,” declares Loki quietly, firmly, his jaw set.

“Okay. Steve, call the meeting. We have two very angry, very deadly assassins to deal with.”

“Thank you, Loki. We’ll schedule a time to start training.”

Loki nods, Thor’s grin returns, and Tony follows Steve out of the apartment. Steve asks JARVIS to pass along a message to Natasha and Clint, then heads to the communal level to wait. The duo file in moments later, and Tony grimaces to himself and makes his way into the large kitchen. After grabbing a cheap beer and a bottle of incredibly strong vodka, he joins Steve on the couch, passing over the drinks. Clint nods his thanks, but Natasha doesn’t react further than twisting off the cap and taking a long swig. Steve sighs; Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into his side.

“I guess there are some explanations needed.”

Natasha snorts inelegantly at Steve’s statement. “That’s putting it pretty lightly, Rogers.”

“I… I know seeing Loki here was a shock, and I’m sorry it happened the way it did. But he’s here for a reason.”

“Hang on, Steve.” Tony leans forward, catches Clint’s attention, and signs to the archer _Put your ears in, Tweety, this is important._ Clint rolls his eyes as he does as requested. “Go on.”

“Tony and I… Well, we want to start a family.”

“And what, adoption isn’t good enough?”

“That’s not it at all, Clint. Adoptions is, it’s a great choice, but I, uh, I wanted to…”

“You wanted to actually carry,” supplies Nat, cutting to the point with ease immediately – as usual.

“Exactly. And to make that possible, we had to turn to magic, since science and biology aren’t on our side. Thor brought his mother here, and she allowed us the use of their magic. She gave us her word that Loki’s powers are being watched closely, with strict conditions.”

“What are we supposed to do if we get a call to go out and fight crazy people intent on destroying or taking over the world? Say, ‘No, thanks, we can’t today, since our dear old Captain America is knocked up’?” Clint drains his beer and begins picking at the label. “I just, I have to ask. Did you even think this through?”

“No, we decided to do this by the seat of our pants,” Tony snaps, and Steve drops his head into his hands.

“Stop, that doesn’t help. Yes, Clint, we thought this through. Loki will be spending as long as it takes training with me daily, then he’ll be taking my place on the field. I’ll be working with SHIELD behind the scenes and giving orders and suggestions where I can. Thor has promised to keep an eye on Loki, make sure he doesn’t try to screw us over. We have backup plans for backup plans.”

“And if we’re down a player for whatever reason,” interjects Tony, “I’m sure Rhodey will step in to help. Plus, JARVIS can control the suits, so we have those at – well, I was going to say ‘at our disposal,’ but I’d much rather not be disposing of them. They’re my babies.”

Clint sighs and drops his head against the backrest of the couch. “I still hate him.”

“So do I, Legolas, but…he’s helping as much as he can while still being safeguarded.”

“Good luck, Cap.”

Natasha runs her fingers through Steve’s hair, raps her knuckles gently against on Tony’s forehead, and exits the room. Clint shrugs, following after his best friend. Steve closes his eyes and leans against Tony.

“I don’t know if that went well or not.”

“Well, personally, I was kinda afraid it’d go in a whole different, much worse direction, and, since no one died or even had a threat made against their life, I’m counting it as a win.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am. Now, c’mon. We have successfully prevented a potentially fatal catastrophe. We should definitely celebrate, preferably by being naked in our bed for the next, oh, six to seven hours.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but the huff of soft laughter speaks volumes about his amusement. Tony stands, pulls him to his feet, and leads him to the elevator. JARVIS demonstrates his amazing bro-level by stopping the lift between floors while Tony’s on his knees, mouth coaxing groans from the man he’s so devastatingly in love with. Between the taste of Steve on his tongue and the swells of devotion and affection, Tony has rarely loved his life more.


	10. chapter nine

It takes nearly a month of daily three hour-long training sessions before the team is convinced of Loki’s ability to take Steve’s place effectively. To everyone’s surprise, it isn’t Clint or Natasha who is hardest to assure that the demigod is capable, but Sam and Thor. Sam, who’d been told of the plan shortly after the spies, whose response had been “Not my business, man, just as long as you’re happy,” maintains that his hesitance was due to the fact that Loki is a completely new character in his life, and seeing Tony and Steve getting hurt or screwed over is the last thing Sam wants; Thor claims he has always had faith in his brother but wants to leave nothing to chance. Loki, to his credit, _is_ a fast learner, picking up on the way Steve moves with ease, never faltering though his uncertainty is blatantly obvious.

The first couple of times that Loki transformed was… _weird_ , to say the least. It took Steve far too long to get accustomed to seeing an exact copy of himself going through the obstacle course, flinging and catching the shield, practising falls and drops and fly-and-catches with the members of the team who fly. Natasha came close to getting struck by Thor’s lightning after the second training session was called to a close: She walked up to Loki and dragged a blade along the trickster’s arm. Steve winced at the sight of the blood coming out of his ( _not his_ ) arm in small, steady streams, and it took Sam, Clint, and Steve – along with the threat of being blasted in the face with a repulsor beam – to keep Thor from attacking the redhead. When she stared at the wound, motionless and expectant, Steve understood. The question of whether the healing factor transferred was a good one. Though Loki had taken Steve’s form, he bled just as freely as in his own, without sign of stopping quickly. Loki had simply waved a hand, and the gash disappeared.

Shockingly, during those four weeks, the world was – mostly – quiet. Any stirrings of trouble were easily taken care of by SHIELD, Natasha, and Clint. The “assassin twins” came home from each send-out with little to no damage inflicted on them. The lack of villains bent on destroying the world has been slightly perplexing, but Steve can’t deny it’s been nice to not have to worry about saving Earth with all the training and planning they’ve been doing.

The day finally comes.

Steve wakes early to a dim bedroom and a warm body curled up against his. He tries to lie still, doesn’t want to interrupt Tony’s sleep, but anxiety burns along his nerves. His legs itch and tingle with the need to move; after ten minutes of forcing himself to stay motionless, he can’t handle it any longer, shifting gingerly out of Tony’s arms, slowly rising off the bed. Steve dresses in a pair of loose basketball shorts, a T-shirt, and fresh pair of socks, then makes his way out of the room.

As he pads down the hall and into the living room, the lights gradually become brighter, and JARVIS recites the weather forecast and the day’s schedule in hushed tones. Their calendar is relatively clear – one conference call set for later in the day (Tony) and a quick meeting with SHIELD (that Steve is sending Loki to, in his place). Today is going to be full enough without other responsibilities demanding his time or brainpower.

The gym is empty, silent, when Steve enters. He does his warm-up stretches, revels in the stillness, before heading to the treadmill. JARVIS immediately starts up the _Troublemaker_ soundtrack at Steve’s request. Steve smiles and loses himself in the rhythm of his running.

 

 

By the time he’s done showering and is dressed in less sweaty – but just as comfortable – clothes, Tony is awake and standing next to Bruce at the stove. He smiles widely at Steve as the blond steps off the elevator on the communal level, and Steve feels himself fall that much deeper in love; the two exchange soft kisses, their lips carrying words that don’t need to spoken aloud to be heard.

“Good morning, Steve. Want some breakfast?”

“Sure, Bruce, thanks.” Steve cuts his gaze to Tony, raising a brow questioningly, a silent _Does he know about today?_. In true Tony-fashion, Tony grins, a shit-eating grin that Steve doesn’t trust a bit.

“Brucie-Bear knows and is okay with our plans for the day, aren’t you, Bruce? I figured once Murder-Face and Robin Hood knew when it was happening, and you’d told Sam, it’d be okay to tell my platonic science-soulmate, and he’s fine with it.”

“Of course it’s okay.”

“I, uh, also told Coulson.”

Steve stops halfway through reaching for a mug. “Oh.”

“Natasha said it would be smart, and if we didn’t, it had the potential of causing a _lot_ of issues. And we trust him, so I didn’t see any harm in it – we _do_ trust him, right? I made him swear he’d keep it a secret and sign, like, a million non-disclosure forms. He asked if he had to keep it from Fury, which, _duh_ , yes, but he agreed, but if I made a mistake in telling him, I’m sure I could make a memory eraser and Agent K his ass.”

Steve chuckles, placing his palm over Tony’s mouth to stop his rambling. “It’s fine. Yes, we trust Phil.”

“Agent, his name is Agent,” mumbles Tony against Steve’s hand, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“ _Phil_ , and Natasha’s right. Keeping this away from at least Phil could have disastrous consequences. Eventually, we’ll have to tell Nick, too, but I’m thinking that can wait until after Loki’s proven himself as me once – at minimum.”

Bruce hands Steve a plate with French toast piled high. “Do you think – Well, won’t Fury be pissed about the deception?”

“Fury’s always pissed about something. It’s literally in his name.”

“Tony.” Steve turns his attention back to Bruce. “I figured he can’t be too mad at it if he can’t actually tell it isn’t me.”

“Well, good luck with…everything, and uh, don’t be too upset if I’m far away when – I mean, _if_ – he starts that whole angry lecturing-slash-ranting thing he’s so good at.”

Steve flashes a smile at the other man and digs into his breakfast. His plate is clear in record time; he thanks Bruce again, drops a kiss to Tony’s forehead, and heads to his art studio. Once he’s seated on the tall stool, he grabs the nearest sketchbook and soft-leaded pencil. The image is unclear on paper, just sloping lines and shadowy spaces, but he can see the finished product so clearly in his mind. Golden light slants in through the large windows, trails in increments across the cool wooden floor, illuminating the furthest corners of the room. He knows that if he looks up, he’ll see faces on the walls, his past and his present displayed together for him to always see.

“You ready?”

Steve glances up to see Tony leaning against the doorframe, and smiles softly. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

“What are you working on?”

“Just…something. I’ll show you when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Steve finishes the minute detail he’s working on, closes the sketchbook, and sets it in a drawer. Tony stops him with a gentle hand on his bicep; Steve dips his head and presses a kiss to his lover’s lips. He knows that Tony’s worried but trying hard to hide it. Though they’ve been together so long, he still has difficulty expressing anything that can be used against him. Steve knows it’s because of how Howard raised him, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. In fact, he always wishes there was a working time machine so he could go back and punch the Stark patriarch in the face for how he treated his son.

“Lead the way.”

As they walk toward the lift, Steve links their hands together, and Tony’s lips tilt upwards – just slightly. “We weren’t sure if it would be better to do this in Thor’s quarters or the penthouse. So we decided on the workshop.”

“Those are completely different places,” chuckles Steve. “Why the workshop?”

“Mainly so Dum-E can douse Loki with the fire extinguisher.”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it when he realises he has nothing to respond with. He settles for shaking his head.

Thor, Loki, two members of Frigga’s court, and Dum-E stand in the middle of the workshop. True to Tony’s word, the bot is holding the bright red canister, nozzle aimed at the dark-haired demigod. Loki, surprisingly, doesn’t look a bit worried at the prospect of being coated with the mixture. Steve stifles a laugh, nods to the pair of unfamiliar Asgardians, and turns his focus to the brothers.

“Are we ready to begin?” questions Thor politely.

“I think so.”

“Nerves are to be expected, Captain Rogers, but do not worry. There is nothing to hurt you.” Loki’s smile is surely meant to be comforting, but Steve isn’t really reassured, not with the memory of his last encounter with Loki. “The process is fast and painless, though it will be uncomfortable, especially the first time. It is easier if you close your eyes and keep an open mind, remember why you are here, why you are doing this. Magic works best when placed upon willing participants.”

“How long does it usually take?”

“When the spell is cast upon myself, it is instantaneous. However, I know my body well; therefore, my magic does, as well. I can transform with nearly no conscious thought, but as I’m unfamiliar with your structure, I must be more careful, more thoughtful, more thorough. It will take less than five minutes to be sure everything goes according to plan. Are you ready, Captain Rogers?”

Tony steps forward at Steve’s hesitation. “Steve, you can change your mind if you want. No one here will be upset if you do.”

“No, no, it – it’s fine. Yes, I’m ready.”

“If you will please step back, Stark, give me some room to work.”

Tony stays still, eyes locked on Steve’s, and Steve forces a small smile. Finally, his partner backs up; Loki advances until he’s less than a foot away.

“Remember, Captain, close your eyes and open your mind.”

Steve draws in a deep breath and does as requested. At first, nothing happens; he feels foolish, standing in the centre of the workshop with everyone staring at him, his eyes shut tightly against, well…nothing. Then a tingling sensation starts in his toes, leaks upwards slowly through his legs, up and up and up until his scalp is throbbing slightly with the magic. His bones are shifting, collapsing in on themselves, and his skin feels like it’s shrinking around his skeleton. Nothing hurts, just like Loki promised, but everything is discomforting. He feels his lungs constrict, ribcage tightening. A vivid green light blares from beyond his closed eyes, blinds him through the lids. He hears a loud gasp as the light flares higher; the feeling of electricity under his skin, _in his cells_ , intensifies, and his legs give out from under him.

 

“I thought you said this was _safe_!”

“Please remove your hands from my brother. I assure you –”

“What? You can assure me _what_? That your brother, who’s already tried destroying this world once, isn’t capable of-of fucking us over again? Because I, I, I don’t believe that for a second. This was supposed to be _safe_ , Thor!”

Steve doesn’t understand who is arguing and why. All he knows is something is _different_. He turns his head and freezes as soft tendrils brush, light as a feather, across his shoulders. A low groan escapes him when a current zips along under his skin; the loud voices suddenly stop, and slender hands slide gently along the curves of his face. He wants to move, get the fingers away, they’re not Tony’s, why are they touching him?, but his body won’t cooperate. It can’t fight the bone-deep exhaustion.

“Steve, babe, open your eyes, please let me see your eyes.”

His eyelids flutter open; he blinks a couple of times, and his vision slowly clears. Loki is closest, his hands now running along Steve’s arms, pale eyes tight in concentration. Immediately behind the dark-haired demigod are Tony and the members of Frigga’s court. Thor stands at the back of the group with his arms crossed over his broad chest. When his gaze meets Steve’s, he grins widely.

“As I told you, Tony, perfectly safe.”

Loki sits back, drops his hands to his lap. Evidently, the cursory examination is complete. “Thor, do me a favour, and shut that oafish mouth of yours. How do you feel, Captain Rogers?”

“I feel weird.”

Steve jerks at the sound of his voice; no longer deep but higher-pitched, rounder. Tony doesn’t quite manage to mask his grimace, but then he plasters a fake smile onto his face. Steve forces himself to take a deep breath, then another, even as he sits up. He glances around the workshop and sees Dum-E peeking almost tentatively from around a cluttered workbench; the fire extinguisher is still in his claw, aimed at Loki. The woman from Asgard steps forward, flashing Steve a reassuring smile.

“Captain Rogers, it is expected to feel odd or different after this kind of spellwork. Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah.” He takes a moment to examine himself. “Loki turned me into a – a woman.”

And indeed, Loki has. Steve’s legs are long, slender, drowning in the fabric of his sweats. His chest is no longer flat with the smooth curve of muscles, but has two round swells. Maybe he’s spent too much time with Clint and Tony, because his hands itch to explore his new breasts. His shirt dwarfs him, hangs off his shoulders, and soft hair brushes the exposed skin. He meets Tony’s gaze and forces a smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Loki helps Steve to his feet but allows Tony to lead the group to the couch. Steve’s head is spinning by the time he collapses to the cushion, wrapped tightly in Tony’s arms. Silence falls on the workshop, but it’s short-lived, cut off by a series of beeping and whining. Steve pulls his head away from Tony’s chest to see Dum-E staring at him; Tony snorts a laugh when the bot’s claw reaches out to pull the neck of Steve’s shirt more snugly on his shoulder. Another bout of beeps sounds, and Steve cocks his head as he realises the noises have an inquisitive note to them.

“I believe that Dum-E is rather curious as to where Captain Rogers has gone and who the woman is, and he refuses to believe me.”

Tony rolls his eyes at JARVIS’s announcement. “Of course the brat won’t listen to his infinitely smarter brother. Dum-E, this beautiful woman beside me _is_ , in fact, Captain Rogers. Yeah, don’t think too hard on it. Magic.”

At Tony’s words, the bot whines and rolls away rapidly. Steve chuckles – and hearing his own laughter in a higher pitch is never going to be easier. A knock against the darkened glass walls of the workshop pulls everyone’s attention away from Dum-E.

“Agent Romanov is requesting entrance, Sir. She says that she has something for Captain Rogers.”

“Is it okay if she comes in? You can say no, Cap.”

Steve nods, blowing out a breath. “It’s fine. They’re going to have to see me eventually.”

The door slides open with a quiet hiss, and Natasha strides in. Steve’s sure he isn’t imagining the glint of a knife up her sleeve or the way she ignores the Asgardians. She comes to a stop a few feet away from the couch, her eyes on the bot making circles on the concrete. With a raised brow, she turns her focus to Steve.

“He seems distressed.”

“Tony told him about magic.”

“Ah.” Her lips quirk upwards minutely before she becomes serious once more. “Are you done here? I got you some stuff to help you while you’re...not you.”

“Bruce wants to check him out first, make sure he’s completely okay with the whole ‘swapping biological forms’ thing,” announces Tony, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Okay. Meet me in my room whenever you’re done here, Cap.”

As quickly as she came in, Natasha’s gone, slowing only to slide a hand softly over Dum-E’s frame. Loki and Thor leave shortly after, followed closely by the Asgardian delegation. Tony stays by Steve’s side during the short walk to Bruce’s lab, during the long examination in which Bruce compares blood samples, physical reactions, and mental capacity. The actual inspection of Steve’s body is clinical; Bruce’s hands are gentle but don’t linger as he pokes, prods, and searches for any flaw in this new body. When he gives the all clear, Steve thanks him and leaves the other two men to talk.

Natasha pulls open her door before Steve can even knock. She gestures him inside; he follows her through the living room and into her bedroom. The large bed is covered in shopping bags and clothing boxes; a tall mirror leans against the wall by the closet door. She gives him a mischievous smile before ordering him to strip. When he balks at the command, Natasha rolls her eyes, reminding him that they now have the same body parts. This doesn’t assure him as much as he thinks she’s hoping, but he doesn’t say anything, just does as instructed. She rifles through the bags, and Steve takes advantage of her distraction and checks out his reflection in the mirror.

His shoulders are slender, less bulky; his chest is rounded out, breasts proportionate, and his abdomen narrows until his waist, where his hips curve and turn into long, shapely legs. The dusky pink of his nipples is slightly lighter than before. The hair at the apex of his thighs is less thick, curlier, takes up more area without his cock. He runs his fingers over a thigh, tilting his head at the softness of the hair there. When he turns back to Natasha, she’s smiling knowingly.

“Try these on.”

The light blue cotton panties are snug but comfortable. Steve doesn’t know why, but he’s surprised that they fit so perfectly. Nat has to help him with the bra; he’s never been good with the clasps. She barely gets it done up before she’s pulling it back off, replacing it with a different one. The second doesn’t dig into his skin; it’s still uncomfortable, though. The rest of the dressing process is a study in trial and error: The jeans she passes over are the correct size, but the first shirt he pulls on is both too tight and too low-cut. Thankfully, she agrees that it shows off too much cleavage and gives him another. He slides his (now smaller) feet into a pair of shoes she calls “flats” and inspects his reflection. He has to admit – he looks decent, even with the lost expression on his face.

Natasha leans into his side. “You look good, Steve.”

“Thanks.” He sighs, “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Of course you can. You’re still you inside, where it counts. The packaging’s just different, is all. Don’t worry. Tony knows it’s you, he’ll love no matter what form you’re in.”

Leave it to Natasha to figure out where his uncertainty stems from. She lets him go with an order to come back that evening for a “lesson in feminine traditions.” She says the last part with enough scorn and disdain, that he’s almost terrified to show up at the designated time. But he steels himself to the plan and goes to find Tony.

Tony’s eyes darken at the sight of Steve standing in the middle of the workshop wearing an outfit that Natasha assured him was sexy yet classy. In this body, Tony’s taller than Steve by a good two inches; his build looks bulkier now that Steve’s smaller. Tony hurriedly wipes his hands on a clean rag, grabs Steve’s wrist, and yanks him closer for a searing kiss. Steve feels like he’s floating, like he’s a soap bubble that could burst at any moment, as Tony’s tongue dances against his own. His breasts are pressed tightly, almost uncomfortably, to Tony’s chest, but he can’t think of that now, can’t think of anything except the rasp of Tony’s goatee against his skin and the heat pooling between his legs as Tony caresses the swell of one breast, thigh between Steve’s and cock hard and insistent against Steve’s hip.

“Tony, we really – oh, my _God_ , what are you doing? And, and who the Hell are _you_?”

Steve jerks away from Tony, stumbling in his haste to separate their bodies; Pepper’s face is white with splotches of angry red high on her cheekbones. Her pale eyes are narrowed with rage. File folders lay in a jumbled pile at her feet, papers splayed out on the concrete. She takes a step forward, not seeming to care that her heels are wrinkling and tearing holes in the papers. Steve smoothes down his shirt, pushes his hair out of his face, ignores the heat in his cheeks as he meets Pepper’s furious gaze.

“You need to leave,” she announces in a cold tone. “Leave, and don’t ever come back. Tony, you –”

“Pep, it’s not –”

“– are going to explain –”

“–what you think –”

“– exactly _why_ you are cheating on Steve –”

“– I swear, oh, Jesus, Pepper –”

“– with this, this –”

“– don’t you dare finish that sentence –”

“– cheap, knock-off, female version of Steve that you found on the wrong side of the dumpster!”

Silence descends on the workshop. Even the bots have stopped moving in the face of Pepper’s wrath. Steve is struck with the thought that maybe everyone in the Nine Realms has heard her screaming, echoing through the vacuum of the space-time continuum; he hastily tries to quell the hysterical laughter, but it’s too late. At the sound of the first giggle, Pepper’s eyes flash in his direction, and the dam breaks. He collapses onto the floor, burying his face in his hands to muffle the noise, and Tony clears his throat.

“Pep… This _is_ Steve.”

“What? No, just… _what_?”

Steve is calmed down by the time Tony has explained almost everything. Pepper stays quiet through it all, looking overwhelmed by the influx of information. Her eyes dart between Tony and Steve, and Steve fidgets where he’s still sitting on the floor. When Tony finishes speaking, Pepper inhales shakily.

“I need a drink.” She pushes a loose strand of golden-red hair from her eyes. “Actually, I demand copious amounts of liquor until this makes sense.”

 

 

Natasha’s wearing a silky black bathrobe when she answers the door. Steve follows her to the bathroom; the enormous tub is hall-filled with water already, a can of shaving gel and a package of razors sitting on the shelf set in the wall. At her nod, Steve strips off his jeans, then his shirt when she rolls her eyes. He perches on the lip of the tub, feet in the hot water, and keeps his eyes off Natasha’s skin as she pulls of her robe. Her bra and panties match, a deep burgundy that contrasts with her creamy complexion perfectly. She pins her hair up out of her face, pulls Steve’s hair into a messy bun, and joins him on the bathtub’s edge.

“What I’m about to teach you isn’t a necessity, but it’s something that is best to learn to do in case you decide you want to at a later time. Or never at all.” She shrugs and shakes the can; it takes far too much of Steve’s brainpower to avoid watching the way her breasts bounce beautifully in the thin cups of her bra. “Even if you don’t shave at all during all of this, at least you’ll know how so you can teach your daughter, if you have one.”

“I’ve shaved almost every day since puberty. How hard can this be?”

“You’ve shaved your _face_. Legs, underarms, and…other parts are different.”

“You mean –?”

“Have you been with a woman? Yes, some women shave their pubic hair. Personally, I’ve found it to be far more trouble than it’s worth, but it’s always good practise to keep it, at the least, trimmed neatly – like Tony has to trim his goatee.”

Steve absorbs the information, nods when he’s ready. Natasha’s right: Shaving his legs is very different than shaving his face. By the time he _thinks_ he’s done, he’s nicked himself five times and left a couple small patches of hair. She asks if he wants to shave or trim the pubic hair; he choose trim, simply because he can’t fathom dealing with slicing the sensitive skin of his labia. It’s...uncomfortable, having Natasha’s face so close to his vagina, as she drags an electric trimmer across the coarse hairs. She talks quietly, explains the best way to do this, gives tips on how to get every crevice, recommends moisturisers. She doesn’t take long, moving away the second she’s finished, and Steve reaches down to feel the results. There are no stray curls where she’s trimmed or shaved him, just smooth skin.

Before Steve leaves, she hands him a small, nondescript shopping bag.

“Don’t open it yet. I’ll distract Tony once you get back to the penthouse. Also, Steve? Use condoms when you guys have sex.”

“That kind of defeats the purpose of me having this body, doesn’t it?”

“At first. Use condoms at first. Wait until after your first menstrual cycle, then you can ditch them. Nobody’s sure how this magic thing works, so it’s best to be safe rather than sorry.”


	11. chapter ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut abounds in this chapter, just a warning. If you'd rather not read it, then skip ahead a few paragraphs to _He collapses_.

“Next time, J, give me an escape route,” Tony grouses as he leans against the wall of the elevator.

He’s just spent the last twenty minutes being cornered by Natasha, being questioned about what Pepper knows. He managed to escape by promising extra sparring lessons if he’s lying. Thankfully, he knows he isn’t, so there’s no risk of him getting his ass kicked more than necessary. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she didn’t trust him.

“I do apologise, sir, but Agent Romanov requested that I not allow you any chance of avoiding her.”

“Yeah, yeah, just take me home.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The penthouse is dark and quiet. JARVIS brings the lights up to five percent, just enough that Tony can see where he’s going without tripping over furniture. The AI remains suspiciously silent, doesn’t answer Tony’s questions about what’s going on, where Steve is. Tony considers panicking at the thought of why JARVIS isn't responding, but decides he ultimately doesn't care; he's too tired, mentally drained. Besides, severing the connection between JARVIS and the penthouse is 99.99% impossible, the rest of the tower would lose contact with the system and power source first.

Tony toes off his shoes inside the front door and makes his way to the bedroom. As soon as he opens the door, soft music begins to play, and he freezes at the sight of what's in his bed. Steve lounges against the pillows, body on display, illuminated and shadowed by the multitude of candles flickering on the dresser and night stands, curves and soft lines framed by thin lace. The swells of his breasts threaten to spill from the cups of the teddy; a small scrap of fabric comprises what can only be a thong. On his feet are a pair of strappy black heels. Tony can't stop the twitch of his cock, the fact his mouth starts watering, or the small whimper that escapes him. Steve bites his bottom lip, beckons Tony closer. Tony goes immediately, stripping as he crosses the room.

The shaky gasp coming from Steve is swallowed by Tony's lips, and Tony drags fingertips along the smooth skin of his lover’s thigh. The kiss is slow, tender, sweet – until it's not. Between one breath and the next, the urgency grows, and Steve wraps his arms around Tony's shoulder, a leg around Tony's waist; pulls their bodies closer together. With a soft sigh, Tony rests as much weight as he dares on Steve. Steve's always been the bigger one, the one most capable of holding the other’s weight, so having to take precautions not to crush this new, more fragile form is unfamiliar. He doesn’t remember the last time he was on top of a woman – even Pepper had preferred more control in the bedroom, generally speaking – but this is beyond new. This isn’t some random, leggy blonde looking for a quick roll between his expensive sheets. No matter what, this is Steve, the one person who’s ever gotten this close, who’s ever made Tony believe – actually _believe_ – that he deserves this; that he deserves the results of all the effort he’s put into this relationship and hard work he’s had to do to get past his issues; that he undoubtedly deserves the undiluted happiness and joy and colour Steve has brought into his life.

Tony ducks his head, capturing Steve’s lips momentarily before pulling away long enough to press soft kisses to the smooth arch of Steve’s throat. He can feel the flutter of the blond’s heartbeat beneath his lips; he nips and sucks at the skin, savours the keening noise it produces from the most beautiful mouth he’s ever encountered. Though Steve’s body is different, he tastes the same on Tony’s tongue as the brunet licks at a sensitive spot.

“Where’d you disappear to earlier?” he murmurs against a collarbone, tongue dancing across the top of Steve’s breast before skimming along the edge of the teddy.

“N-Natasha’s,” gasps Steve; his back arches, bring Tony’s mouth closer. “She – oh, Hell, Tony – she taught me things, gave me all this for, for you. _Fuck, yes_.”

Tony catches Steve’s nipple between his teeth; the lace is nearly nonexistent, provides just enough roughness that he knows it feels good to Steve. “Yeah? What’d she teach you?”

“How to shave.”

“Legs?”

“Yeah, yeah, please stop teasing, Tony, please.”

“Mm. Underarms?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony bites down on Steve’s breasts, releasing once he’s sure a mark will form. It doesn’t matter that the mark will disappear before they’re done, he doesn’t care; it’ll last long enough. Steve shudders under Tony as his breath ghosts over bared skin. Tony shifts until he can move one hand. Steve’s breath comes in sharper pants as Tony slides a finger under the band of the thong. The texture of trimmed curls brings a smile to Tony’s face, and he stares up at Steve.

“This is incredibly sexy, Steve.” He presses a kiss to the lace, laps at the very edge of the g-string’s crotch, moans at the taste flooding his tongue. “God, I wanna devour you.”

“Please, _please_ , Tony…”

Tony’s cock is already hard, drooling precome onto the bed, but Steve begging has always pushed him so close to the edge, and the fact that Steve’s voice is higher in pitch does nothing to change that. Without another word, he sets to work, licking and sucking at Steve’s slick folds through the lace, soaking the thong with spit and juices. Steve cries out; his fingers twist in Tony’s hair, pulling his face even nearer. The thong starts getting in his way, so he pulls back far enough to yank it down Steve’s legs. The moment it’s on the floor, he buries his face against the dripping cunt and thrusts his tongue inside. Steve’s gasps turn into rough moans as Tony nips gently at his folds, sucking Steve’s clit between his teeth, tugging just enough to draw a fragile yelp from Steve. He focuses his attention on the nub, pushes one finger, then two, into Steve’s tight channel. It isn’t long before Steve starts grinding down against Tony’s mouth, onto Tony’s fingers; the blond is damn near sobbing as his thighs tremble around Tony’s head, hips jerking in time with the flexes of the digits buried inside of him. With a high, near-wailing sound, Steve orgasms, and Tony swallows all the fluids he can catch with his tongue. His lover whimpers and tries to twist away; Tony removes his fingers from Steve, sucking the sweet wetness from them. He gives one last slow lick to Steve’s spasming pussy, causing his lover to whine, and crawls up the bed to share a sloppy kiss with him.

“That was beautiful, darling, absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

Steve manages an unsteady smile. “It felt amazing, Tony.”

“Are you up to getting fucked? Because I’m dying to fuck you.”

“I–I think so. Uh, Tony?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I know we’ve been, um, ‘going bare’, but… can we use a condom?”

“That kinda defeats the purpose of Loki body-swapping you, but sure, anything you want.”

Steve’s hands are smaller but no less agile as he tears open the foil and rolls the condom onto Tony’s aching cock. Tony pulls Steve’s legs to wrap around his waist, lines himself up. Steve’s head falls back against the pillows, plush lips forming a perfect ‘o’, throat exposed in an elegant curve, as Tony inches carefully, slowly, inside. Once Tony is in as deep as he can go, he drops forward to brace his hands on the pillow on each side of Steve’s head. Steve gasps at the sudden change in position, hips lifting abruptly, and Tony ducks his head to press tender kisses all over Steve’s cheeks, forehead, closed eyelids, lips.

“This…feels so different,” Steve moans while his hands come to rest on Tony’s shoulders.

“Good different?”

“Why don’t you move and we’ll find out for sure.”

The chuckle slips out against Tony’s will, but he does as he’s oh-so-politely instructed. He keeps his movements cautious, gently rocks his hips, shallow push-pulls, until Steve’s babbling, a steady stream of “please, Tony, faster, harder, oh God, yes.” He kisses Steve once more and snaps his hips forward. Steve clenches around his cock; Tony moans, moves faster, thrusts harder. The sound of skin against skin is obscene, drowning out the man singing _I need your love, I want your love. Say you’re in love and you’ll be my guy; if not, I’ll just die_. Tony slips a hand between their bodies, thumb against Steve’s clit, varies the pressure and pattern, and Steve cries out brokenly. His walls convulse, squeeze Tony’s dick rhythmically, and Tony thrusts once, twice, three more times and comes; his vision goes hazy at the edges, but Steve’s face, sweaty and twisted in pleasure, is crystal clear, is the most perfect thing Tony has ever seen.

He collapses, boneless, on Steve’s left side, panting unsteadily as his heart races in his chest. His fingers lazily card through the ends of Steve’s long blond hair. His breathing finally steady, he pushes himself onto one elbow, brushing a kiss across Steve’s cheekbone, and drapes an arm over Steve’s waist.

“So? Was that a good different?”

“Definitely,” laughs Steve quietly. “A really good different.”

“I’m glad, but, uh, what was with the condom?”

Steve explains Natasha’s reasoning, and Tony has to agree that she had a point. He kisses Steve again then rolls out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the dresser; after tossing the clothes to his lover, he picks out a pair of boxer-briefs and a tank top. He pulls them on quickly. The teddy is on the floor by the time Tony turns back toward the bed, and Steve is curled up on his side, dressed and covered with the comforter. Tony slides under the blanket behind Steve, pressing close, and sighs contentedly.

“I really, really love you.”

“I really, really love you, too.”

Nuzzling into the back of Steve’s neck, ignoring the hair that tickles at his nose, Tony breathes in deeply, lets go of consciousness.

 

 

Steve is in the shower and Tony is sitting at the table in the kitchen, reading over the latest R&D updates when JARVIS announces Pepper’s impending arrival. Tony requests his AI inform Steve of their company “when he’s out of the shower, don’t give him a heart attack for God’s sake.” He pours another mug of coffee for his favourite CEO, hides the strawberries (he learned his lesson about that particular fruit a long time ago), and waits for the _ding_ of the elevator to sound. The _click-click_ of her heels is familiar; he can’t help but smile. He quickly hides the grin before she appears in the doorway. She’s carrying a stack of folders and a tablet in one hand, her phone and a dry-cleaning bag in the other. They do the hand-off of items just like they used to, and she reaches up to press the button on her bluetooth device. He kisses her cheek gently, waits for her to speak.

“Five things you need to approve and sign or reject and sign. Either way, I’m leaving with five signatures. The plant manager of the London branch is waiting for a video chat on the tablet; he says he has some questions about the most recent memo and won’t take my word on anything, wants to hear it from the ‘man in charge who knows what he’s talking about’, as if I don’t know this company and its memos as well as, if not better than, you do. Also, I brought something for Steve. Where is he?”

Tony laughs as Pepper finally takes a breath. “You’ll get the signatures before you leave, promise. I’ll talk to the manager and let him know you’re the best hope for any serious answers. Steve’s showering right now, but J can ask if he’s decent for you. Now shoo, I’ve got a business to run.”

She levels him with an unimpressed glare, though it gets ruined completely by the smile she can’t smother in time, and heads down the hallway toward the bathroom. Tony breezes through the chat with Byron, reminds the manager that Ms Potts is CEO of Stark Industries for a reason – and it isn’t because of her looks; reads through the proposals, accepting only one and rejecting the others, signing each packet with a larger signature than necessary (but it’s only because he doesn’t want Pepper to not see that he actually did as requested, that’s all; it has nothing to do with being a smartass); finishes his coffee; and makes his way to the bedroom.

Steve stands in the middle of the room, wearing a sunny yellow sundress and a pair of modest heels. Pepper is perched on the end of the bed, gaze sharp and assessing; when she waves her hand, Steve steps forward shakily, nearly stumbles but manages to regain his balance enough to keep walking. He reaches the far wall, turns, and walks back to the centre of the room. Pepper nods after he’s come to a stop.

“Not bad, Steve. Just a bit more practise, and you’ll be a pro.”

“I hate heels.”

“So do a lot of women, but they are viewed as ‘professional attire’, so most of the time, we just shut up, put a smile on, and kick ass in our ‘kill-me-now’ heels.”

“I still say you could walk into a meeting in a trash bag and still be able to scare the shit out of the idiots on the board,” remarks Tony, causing both Pepper and Steve to startle. “And you, my beautiful blond love, look fantastic. What’s the occasion?”

Steve accepts Tony’s kiss, smiles when they separate. “Pepper didn’t know if I’d had any clothes, so she brought me an outfit.”

“Tony, we’re having lunch with Louisa today.”

“Why? We usually only meet with her when there’s some sort of threat against my public image.”

The look Pepper gives him could strip paint from metal. He hurriedly plasters an innocent expression on his face; judging by Steve’s laugh and her eye roll, his attempt isn’t successful.

“Were you guys planning on locking yourselves inside the entire time Steve’s pregnant? Because if you go out on a date with Steve any time in the next year, without a plan in place, you’ll cause the tabloids to go insane. The headlines will read ‘Iron Man Steps Out on Captain America’, and it will be big news for the foreseeable and unforeseeable future. And that’s not even including the arrival of the baby.” Pepper shrugs. “We have to think of a plan, a cover story, for the sudden appearance of a strange woman in your life.”

“She’s right, Tony,” murmurs Steve, staring at his feet.

“Of course I’m right. I’m also trying to be supportive and look out for the both of you.”

“Okay,” agrees Tony, clapping his hands once. “So. Lunch with Louisa.”

“Great. It’s on your schedule. Steve, JARVIS, I’m trusting that you two can get him there on time?”

“I shall endeavour to do so, Ms Potts.”

 

 

It’s a wonderful thing that Natasha and Pepper are the ‘prepared-for-the-Apocalypse’ type, since neither Tony nor Steve are anywhere near acquainted with the procedure that accompanies waking up in a bed that suddenly resembles a violent crime scene. Tony doesn’t freak out (much, but what he does is mostly out of not-quite-awake surprise), but Steve is apologetic and panicky the entire time Tony is stripping the sheets from the mattress, ordering JARVIS to pass an SOS message to his favourite ladies.

Natasha strides into the bedroom a few minutes later, walk confident in a way Tony can never achieve naturally, looking like she owns the space; a plain paper bag dangles from her slender wrist, and Tony’s tempted to kiss her for pulling Steve into the bathroom. He drops the ruined sheets into the bin mockingly labelled _**Biohazard**_ in Pepper’s elegant script, implemented after the fourth cleaning crew quit at the sight of filthy sheets. The sound of the shower starting behind the closed door breaks the silence. He spreads out the new bedspread, smoothing out the wrinkles, and waits.

Pepper arrives half an hour after Natasha, barely even glancing at Tony, and disappears into the bathroom. All Tony can hear is the soft cadence of three voices but not the words; he registers the embarrassed whine in Steve’s voice, but Natasha and Pepper are quick to reassure him. When they emerge, Steve’s face is red, though he doesn’t look as overwhelmed as before. He’s wearing a pair of loose, dark dress pants – Tony’s well aware that the slacks are elastic around the waist; Pepper wore them a lot when she and Tony were still dating, and he’s heard his ex-girlfriend wax poetic about them often enough – and a light blue button-down. He steps forward, kisses the end of Steve’s nose.

“You look great.”

“I feel miserable.”

“We tried giving him a Motrin, but his metabolism burned straight through it,” announces Pepper, her lips twisted in an apologetic grimace.

“It’s okay – all right,” Tony concedes, holding his hands up in surrender at the three-fold glare he receives. “Maybe ‘okay’ is a bad word, but as I was saying, Bruce and I can try to figure out something that _will_ work.”

Natasha glances at the expression on Steve’s face. “Maybe you should put off the outing until –”

“It’s fine.”

“Steve –”

“I said it’s fine. If anyone says that I look uncomfortable, I’m sure Louisa can spin it as I’m just incredibly nervous or something.”

“Okay. Just remember: Use a heating pad if the cramps get to be too much.”

Steve looks less like he’s being sliced open from the inside out by the time lunchtime rolls around. Tony has spent the last four hours studying chemical compositions of a variety of over-the-counter pain medications, arguing over the chance of success of each combination with Bruce, but so far, no results have been deemed favourable. So he merely squeezes Steve’s hand before he leaves to meet with Loki at a cafe down the block.

He’s spent little time with Loki in the past month unless those visits included checking on Steve’s welfare. So having to look at a face so clearly Steve but also not is disconcerting. At the last minute, he remembers to pretend the person at the table is Steve, ducks to press a chaste kiss to Steve-Loki’s temple.

“Sorry I’m late, peaches. Pepper waylaid me. Apparently I forgot to sign some pretty important papers.”

Loki shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that’s at complete odds to the tightness around his blue eyes. “It’s okay. Ms Potts already called to warn me.”

_Thank God for Natasha and comm units._

“How many times have we had this argument? Call her Pepper.”

“Why are we talking about me?”

Tony sends a relieved smile in Pepper’s direction as she stops next to the table. “Steve’s still refusing to call you anything other than ‘Ms Potts’ in public.”

“That’s because, unlike _you_ , Steve has manners.” It’s a true testament to how amazing Pepper is that she can bend down enough to kiss Loki’s cheek without so much a flicker of uncertainty or revulsion. “It’s great to see you again, Steve. We’ll have to schedule a lunch soon. For now, I want to introduce you to someone. Gentlemen, this is Miss Stephanie Crawford. Stephanie, these wonderful men are Tony Stark and Captain Steve Rogers.”

Loki stands, offering a hand to Steve. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Crawford. Please, have a seat.”

“You’re right, Pep. She’s identical to Steve, I mean, minus the muscles.”

“Yes, well, I’m good at my job, Mr Stark.”

Steve looks nervous throughout the entire lunch; Tony knows his partner is terrified of the truth being figured out, that someone will let slip that things aren’t what they seem, but Pepper and Tony have both had years of experience when it comes to swaying public perception, and Loki is literally the God of Lies and Mischief, and Steve is determined for things to go according to plan. So the risk of this being seen as anything other than a meal between two superheroes, a CEO, and a young woman is small, almost nonexistent.

Tony, on the other hand, wants nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, to touch Steve – his Steve – to kiss the anxious expression off his beautiful face; to drag him back to the tower, lock the doors, and spend the next few hours beneath the sheets. But he forces himself to force to show polite attention to Steve, bestowing the deeper contact on Loki. Each time he glances at Steve hurts, especially when Tony is brushing his fingers across the back of Loki’s hand or sharing an affectionate smile with the wrong Steve.

“Thank God for tinted windows” is all he manages to say before he’s dropping Loki’s hand and kissing Steve.

“Please, Tony, no sex in the limo.”

“Fine, if you insist.” Tony sits back against the seat, smiling widely at Pepper. “How do you think it went?”

She glances up from her phone with a soft tilt to her lips. “‘WhosThatGirl’ is trending on Twitter and Facebook, tumblr is blowing up with fan-theories about what the appearance of a random woman on your lunch date means, and multiple media outlets have already started picking up the story. There are no whispers as to this being a hoax or cover-up for any scandal. So I’d say it went swimmingly.”

“Fantastic. Can I go home now?”

“No. _You_ have a board meeting, so we’re dropping Steve and Loki off at the tower, and I’m kidnapping you for the rest of the day.”

 

 

The next month and a half passes much the same: At least once a week, Steve, Loki, and Tony share a meal in public, all sticking to the same script. The routine gets easier, less awkward, the more they follow it. Loki proves to be a great conversationalist, especially when it’s less _“Woe is me, I’m adopted, and my older brother is the most adored one of us, and I just want attention, so here’s my plan for taking over this realm”_ and more _“I’m pretending to be the love of your life so no one notices he’s actually the ‘woman’ sitting with us, because you two want to have a child together, but I like dogs!”_ Even the subtle touches and shared jokes come more easily.

Of course, as is his luck, once one part becomes less complicated, another has to become infinitely harder. And it’s all Sam’s fault.

“Ya know, people are starting to wonder if you and Steve are in couples’ therapy.”

Tony looks up from the wings he’s repairing; when nothing else is said, he spits the screwdriver out from between his teeth and cocks his head to the side. “A, even if we were, there’s nothing wrong with that. Therapy is a wonderful tool if you need it. B, why are they thinking that, and how do _you_ know about it?”

“Internet, man. Hard not to know when it’s all anybody can talk about.” Sam shrugs, taking a bite of his apple. "They think it 'cause out of nowhere, you two disappear from the public eye for months, and when you come back, there's suddenly this new person who's there each and every time."

"And they, what, think this new person is our therapist?"

"Evidently so. You know what this means, right?"

Between the manic gleam in Sam's eye and the only logical conclusion Tony's brain has been able to come up with in the last three minutes, Tony is absolutely sure he doesn't want to hear what Sam isn't saying and that he will absolutely hate it.

"Don't you dare, Wilson. Don't –”

"You and Loki gotta start being public with your displays of affection, which means you'll have to practise until it comes naturally."

"I _told_ you not to say it," groans Tony, head dropping to hard metal. "Do we _really_ have to? I mean, I thought we were doing just fine."

"You don't _have_ to. Just thought I'd suggest it so the birth of your child isn't surrounded by the drama of everyone questioning whether the whole parenthood thing is a last-ditch attempt at salvaging your fizzling relationship."

Which is how Tony's ended up here in the communal living room feeling more uncomfortable than he's been in his entire life - including the time Mary Newton's whole family walked in on him with his face between her legs. Thor stands, leaning against the wall with a confused expression on his face. Sam is fighting a smile as he reclines in an armchair, Natasha on the arm with his hand on her waist. Clint perches on the back of the couch; even _Coulson_ is here, sitting as far away from the archer's bare feet as possible on the sofa. Steve remains in the doorway. His arms are crossed over his torso. The only one not in the room to witness Tony making a fool of himself is Bruce (he declined Sam's excited invitation by claiming he has a time-sensitive experiment, the lucky bastard).

Tony scrubs a hand over his face, exhales sharply; at Steve's small smile, he nods, steeling his resolve, and leans in toward Loki. A loud, frustrated groan breaks them apart before their lips can meet.

"C'mon, Stark, you look constipated. That is _not_ the look of a man in love."

Tony glares at Sam. "Shut it, Wilson, or the next time you use your wings, you might find yourself being shipped off to the moon."

The threat only serves to cause Sam to laugh loudly. The ghost of a smile flickers across Clint's face, and Natasha rolls her eyes in the way that means she's secretly amused. Tony steps closer to Loki, darting a glance at Steve who fidgets uncomfortably at the entire situation but doesn't say a word. This time, nobody interrupts as the two men gradually get closer. Kissing Loki in Steve's form isn't bad - it's a lot like kissing Steve, but it also isn't. _Steve_ acquiesces, lets Tony set the pace - unless he's pissed off about something. Loki, on the other hand, pushes back, he initiates deepening the kiss, and his tongue tangles with Tony's forcefully. The plushness of his lips, the shape of his teeth, the taste are all Steve, but the style is anything but.

When they part, Wilson whistles sharply, and Natasha has a brow raised. Clint somehow has got popcorn; Coulson is still plowing steadily through his paperwork, but Steve is gone. Tony debates going after him. Sam's words replay through his brain, so he forces himself to stay put.

Steve is in his studio when Tony finally finds him later that night. His canvas is empty, though his fingers cradle a paintbrush. Tony steps up behind him, wrapping his around Steve's slender shoulders, pressing his nose to the long silky locks.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Sam's right. It needed to be done."

"Doesn't mean either of us has to like it." Tony steps away to pull the other stool closer. Once he's sitting, he stares at Steve's profile, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. "I hate that this is hurting you."

"I'll be fine."

"Damn it, Steve –”

"It's _fine_. Yeah, I don't like it, and yeah, it sucks, but it's necessary, and I'll get through this the way I do everything else - by focusing on the end goal."

Tony relents, nods, but Steve doesn't look away from the stretch of white in front of him. The pair sits in silence for a while, until Steve lets out a shaky breath.

"Let's go to bed. I'm tired."

"Okay, sweetheart."

After an hour of worshiping Steve's body, relishing the tastes and swallowing Steve's moans and sighs as he reaches orgasm two, three times before Tony even pushes inside, Tony curls his body around his lover's and strokes his fingers gently through Steve's damp hair. He knows Steve is keeping something from him, but he doesn't push. Waiting has never been his greatest skill, but for Steve, Tony would do anything, no matter how impossible it seems.

"Tony?"

"M'yeah?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

There's no need to ask for clarification as to what Steve means. "No, definitely not. It wasn't you. I promise, darling, you are the only one I'll ever want to kiss for the rest of my life, and I'll spend every day proving that."

He drags Steve closer, holds him tighter, and falls asleep still whispering reassurances.


	12. chapter eleven

Steve has been in this form for almost five months. The media storm surrounding the arrival of a "strange woman in Iron Man and Captain America's lives" died down within the first outing in which Tony and Loki were photographed alone on a date, sharing a dessert and holding hands. Steve has gotten better at hiding how jealous he is that Loki has taken his place, is able to be seen in public with Tony. Natasha has helped significantly; more often than not, Steve could be found in her quarters talking over tea, watching romantic comedies (a secret pleasure of hers that Steve has sworn to never tell a living soul as long as he lives), or allowing her to teach him more about being "feminine" according to society's standards.

Surprisingly, Clint was fantastic at being supportive the first time a pregnancy test came up negative. For as much as he complains about being uncomfortable with serious conversations or anything involving feelings, he was easily one of the first people to assure Steve that conception would happen, it was only the first try. So when the next test wasn't positive, Clint was the second to know; Natasha had waited in the penthouse bedroom while Steve stared at the stick, impatient for results, and she'd called for the archer once Steve emerged from the bathroom. The pair held him tightly until he'd stopped crying, reiterated that it would take time, and passed a message through JARVIS to Tony, requesting he come home immediately.

Steve started tearing up again at the sight of his partner's confused expression. Tony wrapped Steve in his arms and rubbed his back while whispering soft nonsense. When Steve pulled away, he allowed Tony to wipe his cheeks dry.

"Babe, what happened?"

"We should just quit, Tony. It obviously isn't working, so let's just... Let's go back to normal and pretend I never wanted this."

"It's only been a couple months." Tony cupped Steve's face in his hands, pressed a gentle kiss to the blond's forehead. "Let's go talk to Thor and the others before we throw in the towel."

The Asgardians were sympathetic but insisted that the couple not give up, stating that nothing worth having comes easily. Thor and Loki talked quietly in the corner; the blond looked angry while his brother wore a determined expression. They finished the conversation and joined the quartet on the couches.

“It would be best if we request assistance from our mother. Loki assures me that the spell was cast properly, and it has not developed any flaws.”

“And this means…what, exactly?”

Thor’s brows drew together at Tony’s words, and he exchanged a look with Loki. “It could possibly mean that the problem lies within the bodies, not the magic. That is why our mother should be involved. She will be able to discern the reason and find a way to fix whatever may be wrong.”

“Do it,” ordered Tony, and Steve nodded numbly.

He hadn’t heard anything beyond that point, his brain too busy trying to wrap itself around the knowledge that his body was the cause of the difficulty. Eventually, Tony lead Steve back to the penthouse and spent an hour holding him tightly and reassuring him that everything would work out. Steve fell asleep still worrying that this was all for nothing.

 

Tony locked himself in the workshop for nearly two days; he wouldn't even let Steve or Pepper in, using JARVIS to pass on messages. By the time he emerged, Steve had been close to mounting a one-man rescue mission to save the genius from overworking himself. Steve asked, but Tony refused to give any details about what he was working on. They ate a quick lunch together - the first meal in forty-eight hours that they shared; Tony showered alone (after Steve declined, three times, to join), and they spent a few hours watching mindless TV sitcoms. At five-thirty, Tony pulled Steve to his feet and dragged him to the elevator.

Once inside Thor's quarters, Eira lead Steve into the bathroom, helped him bathe in steaming water that sent off wafts of something sweet and flowery, and then folded his jeans and T-shirt while he dressed in a long, silky robe that slipped through his fingers like smoke. He cinched the belt around his waist then followed the sorceress to the living room. A large table had been placed in the centre of the room, and all of the other furniture was pushed against the walls. The smell of cooking pork permeated through the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh springtime flowers and lavender incense. Eira brought out an elegant silver tray laden with a teapot, cups, and saucers. The door to Thor's landing pad slid open, and in walked the god of thunder himself, followed closely by Queen Frigga. She allowed her son to take her cloak, smiling at Steve and Tony.

"It is wonderful to see you both again."

"You as well, ma'am." Tony crossed the room, bowing and pressing a kiss to the air above her delicate hand. "I'm glad to see you're in such great health and as beautiful as ever."

He offered her his arm, helped her to sit on a plush pillow at the head of table. He then poured her a cup of fragrant tea and handed her a china plate bearing a flaky pastry; even in the dim light of a dozen flickering candles, Steve can see it's clearly the most beautiful of the treats, perfectly golden and fluffy. Once everyone had a pastry and cup of tea, the group ate in silence, only speaking to ask for something to be passed. Eira cleared away the dishes, and Havardr placed the pork in the centre of the table and handed Steve a carving knife. Thankfully, Tony wrapped his hand over Steve’s around the handle and helped him to cut off a decent-sized chunk of meat. Frigga dipped her head in appreciation when the plate is set in front of her. Steve barely tasted what he ate, too nervous about the impending events.

“This is for you,” announced Tony as he headed to the altar. When he returned to his seat, he held an ornate box in one hand and the flowers in the other. “These are gifts, physical tokens of our gratitude for all that you’ve done for Steve and me. Without you, we would never have had this chance. So, thank you.”

Frigga gingerly took the box from Tony’s hands, her fingers tracing intricate etchings in the metal. From his spot, Steve couldn’t see the full design, but the way the queen’s face lit up told him enough. She flipped a tab, opened the box; soft, beautiful _ethereal_ music filtered out, and Frigga’s smile widened. She listened for a moment before closing the lid and setting the box aside.

“I accept these gifts as tokens of your gratitude. Eira, Havardr, Thor, please leave us.”

Once the other three took their leave and the door to Thor’s apartment was closed, Frigga gestured for Steve and Tony to follow her into the guest room. Loki was lighting the last candle just as his mother entered the room; Steve allowed the trickster to guide him to the spot where a blanket had been spread across the floor, laid down, and took a deep breath. Loki stepped back, and Frigga took his place, kneeling beside Steve. It was hard to ignore the six pairs of eyes focused on him, even more so once the queen untied the belt and pulled his robe open. Steve stared at the ceiling, willed away the burning in his cheeks. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the first touch of cool stone against his belly. Frigga let out a reassuring sound but continued placing the crystals on his stomach; the candlelight on the smooth facets of the crystals sent off quivering shimmers, or maybe it was the golden tendrils seeping and sparking between Frigga’s fingers. She murmured words, low in her throat, and Steve found himself relaxing, though he had no hope of understanding the language. His skin warmed from the inside out, a burnished rosy glow emanating from below the flesh. He lost track of time the longer the goddess queen worked.

She finished by pressing her hand gently to his lower torso; her voice took on an otherworldly quality, echoing faintly in the silence of the room. The golden wisps surrounded Steve fully, and he closed his eyes against the brightness. The light faded slowly, gave way to the flickering candle flames. He sought out Tony in the dimness, and his partner smiled, a sweet curve of his lips. Loki helped Steve to his feet. The blond closed his robe as Tony stripped. Frigga repeated the process on Tony’s nude body, and Steve found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away from the sight before him. At the queen’s signal, Tony stood, dressed, and Loki stepped forward and handed her a bag. She thanked her son and tugged gently on the drawstring. Steve felt his face flooding with heat when he saw what she pulled from the depths of silk.

“Burn this candle the next time you take each other to bed."

 

 

Tony's laughter was sudden and slightly hysterical as he held the candle up to eye level. "Steve, Steve, oh my - I... _Steve_ !"

"What, Tony?"

"A literal goddess just gave us a penis-shaped candle and told us to burn it while we bang! What the Hell has our life become?"

"She wasn't that crass about it."

"I don't think you're listening, Stevums. A penis. Shaped. Candle. To burn while we fuck!"

“I swear, if you say 'penis-shaped candle' one more time, the only thing you'll be fucking for a while is your hand," Steve groaned, head dropping to rest in his hands.

“A lump of wax in the shape of a dick? Phallic symbolism made of the byproducts of honeybees? Am I still gonna be in trouble?” Tony cackled when Steve shot him an unimpressed state. “Steve, stop glaring! This is important!”

The kiss was mainly to shut Tony up, but like usual, Tony was able to take it in stride, able to quickly gain the advantage. He pushed against Steve's shoulder until Steve let himself fall backward onto the bed. It wasn't long before Tony pulled away to undress clumsily and light the candle (laughing so hard, he had difficulty keeping a match lit long enough to catch the wick). They shared an awkward kiss; both Steve and Tony kept stealing glances at the candle as it sat atop the dresser, flame trembling merrily. Steve blushed once more, and thankfully, Tony knew what to do to distract him from overthinking. Steve gasped and moaned and pleaded until Tony finally fitted himself between Steve's legs and pushed forward in one easy slide. Steve was too busy being overwhelmed by sensations to notice the awkward rhythm that Tony was keeping, but nothing could keep him from noticing when his partner stopped moving, fell forward onto his elbows, and laughed into the skin of Steve's neck.

“What the –?”

“I feel like it's staring at me,” whispered Tony with a giggle in his voice. “Can a penis-shaped candle stare?”

“Are you… Are you _kidding_ me right now?”

“No, I'm serious. I swear, Steve, the dick candle is _staring_ at me!”

“Anthony Edward Stark, the candle is _not_ staring at you. Now, stop – stop focusing on the candle!”

“But it's staring, it's watching me do this –” Tony thrust hard, causing Steve's breath to hitch. “– and this –” Here, he folded himself enough to latch onto the sensitive skin below Steve's jaw. “– and this.”

Steve clung to Tony's biceps as his hips snapped forward, pushing himself as deep into Steve as he could possibly go. Steve stopped caring so much about the staring penis-shaped candle after that, though Tony kept muttering about how creepy it was.   


 

That was two weeks ago. Now, Steve’s lying in bed, curled up on his side as he watches the sun’s golden rays creep across the walls. He’s been awake since Tony left for work at six-thirty, unable to sleep any longer but not having the motivation or energy to move. Finally, he rolls over and asks JARVIS for the day’s forecast. Maybe he and Natasha can go for a jog in the park if it’s nice out. The AI relays the information with his usual smooth cadence, but there’s _something_ in his tone that gives Steve pause.

“JARVIS? Everything okay?”

“Forgive me, Captain, but Mister Stark has programmed me to keep track of the usage of products within the tower. It has come to my attention that you have yet to open the hygiene products you requested at the end of your last cycle, yet, by my calculations, the latest cycle should have begun on the twenty-second.”

“What’s today?”

“Today is the third.”

_Eleven days._ Steve doesn’t realise he’s spoken aloud until JARVIS replies.

“Precisely. Captain, shall I call for Agent Romanov?”

“Yes, please,” whispers Steve before he hides his face in his pillow.

Gentle fingers caressing his scalp are the only warning he gets that Natasha has arrived. She lets him have his internal freak-out in silence for a few minutes then tugs softly on his hair. He follows her into the bathroom, watches as she opens a drawer and pulls out a box. She steps out of the room with a kind smile, closing the door quietly behind her. Steve takes a deep breath and slides a shaking finger under the flap; quickly, he reads and follows the instructions. He washes his hands, leaves the bathroom to sit by Nat on the bed. He’s grateful for the fact that she allows him to cling to her hand while they wait. When the time is up, he turns to her with pleading eyes, and she gives him an amused smile but doesn’t comment as she goes into the bathroom to check the result.  


Twenty minutes later, Steve finds himself sitting in the comfortable computer chair behind Tony’s desk. Both Natasha and Clint utilised their “sneaky ninja” skills to get him here without detection, and JARVIS rearranged Tony’s schedule so that as far as the genius is aware, he has a last-minute meeting starting in five minutes.

Steve stares at the cityscape through the large window. The weather is starting to drift from summer into fall; the streets are lined with trees in a variety of colours, and pedestrians have begun to wear light jackets. He’s watching the rainbow of kites floating in the sky over the park when the door clicks open behind him. He turns to face Tony whose brows furrows in confusion.

“Hey, babe.” Tony rounds the desk to kiss Steve, sweet and chaste and full of love. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, because I really am, especially since you’re wearing one of my shirts – you look amazing in it, by the way – but I have a meeting.

“I know.”

“You…know…? _You’re_ my meeting?”

“Look at you, earning your genius status,” teases Steve, laughing when Tony rolls his eyes.

“Is this some sort of attempt at office sex? Because steve, darling, sweet-cheeks, all you had to do was ask.”

“No, no office sex, sorry. I’m pregnant.”

Tony freezes with a strand of Steve’s hair twirled around his finger. His dark eyes are wide, flick over Steve’s face. “You’re sure?”

“I’m eleven days late, and I took a test half an hour ago. I’m pregnant, Tony.”

Words get lost as Tony captures his mouth in a hot, burning kiss. Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders, lets Tony pull him to his feet. When they finally separate, they’re both breathing hard, and Tony’s fingers are pressing hard enough to bruise Steve’s waist.

“We’re gonna have a baby.”

Steve nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, we are.”

“Oh, _fuck_ , we’re gonna have a baby.”

 

Once Tony stopped pacing the office, clutching his hair and alternating between panicking and being overjoyed at the news, Steve managed to sit him down so they could make a plan for what was to happen next. Tony had JARVIS hold his calls while they researched the most highly-recommended obstetricians; thirty-five minutes were spent arguing over which doctor was better – Carpenter, David, or Cavendish. Steve put an end to the discussion by kissing Tony goodbye and leaving before he lost control over his laughter. Thankfully, he and Tony are on the same page in regards to at least _one_ thing: They agreed not to tell anyone else until Steve was past the first trimester.

Keeping the secret has been harder than Steve initially thought it would be. He finds himself almost blurting it out at every turn. Clint helps keep most of the focus off of Steve, especially on Team-Bonding Nights when everyone settles in with their alcohol of choice as they watch movies or play board games (Thor is surprisingly skilled at Operation; Coulson is unpredictably the worst). It hasn’t even been a week since the positive test result, and already, Steve is struggling.

Doctor Cavendish turns out to be a tiny slip of a woman with thick silver hair twisted in a severe bun and a no-nonsense attitude. She doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the sight of Tony Stark and Captain America standing on either side of a blonde woman in her exam room. She orders the men to the chairs against the wall, closes the curtain surrounding the table, and directs Steve to lie on his back. Her voice is much kinder, more gentle, when she explains the process. She apologises for any discomfort he experiences as she performs a pelvic exam. The rest of the appointment is less invasive, and for that, Steve is thankful. He pees in the cup he’s handed, allows a lab tech to draw blood (at which point, Tony speaks up to remind the doctor and her staff about the NDA they all signed), and waits for her to come back. When she does, she has a schedule book in her hand.

“Barring any unforeseen surprises in the blood sample, we’ll want you to come back in about four weeks. Does the sixteenth of next month, at 10:45 a.m., work for you?” At Steve’s nod, she jots a note down on the calendar. “Okay. Oh, and Ms Crawford?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

 

**____**

 

Steve stares down at the sonogram in his hands, blinking against the heat in his eyes. He slides it into an elegant envelope, re-reads the letter.

_Dear Queen Frigga,  
_ _Thank you again for all that you have done for Tony and myself. I will never be able to put into words how much we appreciate your assistance and support. It means so much to us, that you would willingly offer what you can to someone you owe no allegiance or loyalty to._

_I have enclosed the first ultrasound print-out of our baby. I figured you’d want to see the little one._

_Thank you, once more, from the bottom of my heart._

_Yours,  
_ _Steve Rogers_

He folds the letter, making sure the creases are sharp and flat, and slips it into the envelope over the sonogram. After sealing the flap down with wax, he writes _Queen Frigga, All-Mother of Asgard_ on the front and makes his way out to the living room. Tony glances up from the tablet in his hands, smiling.

“We ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Steve rubs a hand over his belly, grateful that Tony’s shirt still hides the slight roundness. Natasha’s been teaching him yoga, so he’s taken to wearing the stretchy pants around the tower. Thankfully, Clint and Natasha have both been helping with distracting anyone else who might notice when Steve has to rush out of the kitchen at the waves of nausea; poor Bruce looked hurt when Steve hurried away from the table without eating a bite of the spicy curry he usually loves. He doesn’t know what excuse the SHIELD agents gave, but he’d apologised to Bruce the next day.

Thor has tried quite a few times to speak to Steve; none of the attempts have been exactly successful. Every time he sees the god, Steve is reminded of that damn candle and makes a hasty escape before the awkward embarrassment can overwhelm him. Loki wears a knowing smile on his lips whenever these interactions occur.

The team was called out twice since Steve found out he was pregnant. Pepper sat with him the first time, both of them lounging on the couch in the penthouse; she worked on her duties for SI while Steve watched the video-feed of the fight, gave advice and warnings when he deemed it necessary through the private comm line. Coulson repeated the orders on the main frequency so nobody was privy to the knowledge that the Captain America on the field wasn’t the _real_ Captain America. Loki has been flawless in his mimicry; even Pepper gave her approval with a thoughtful _“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was you.”_

Everyone greets them loudly when Steve and Tony step off the lift. Steve breathes in slowly, but no nausea or urge to empty his stomach is forthcoming, so he laces his fingers through Tony’s and heads toward the table. Nat pushes the chair next to her out for Steve, smacking Tony’s hand with a chopstick when he reaches for the potstickers. Steve doesn’t rush as he eats. The pregnancy books taught him that trick – but not before he’d lost three or four meals by eating at his usual pace.

When he finishes (and Natasha has eaten half of what was on his plate, so no one realised how little he _actually_ ate), he catches Tony’s eye and nods. The brunet grins widely, wipes his mouth with his napkin, and raps his knuckles against the table until everyone quiets down.

“So everybody here knows that Steve and I have been trying to have a baby, right? Good, because in about, oh, seven-ish months, we’ll have the cutest Avenger possible on our roster. So… yay!”

Tony smiles at the end of the rushed announcement, bearing the air of a man who has just won a multi-trillion-dollar lottery – proud and overjoyed, like nothing could ever take away the happiness he’s feeling. Silence falls, but in true Avenger fashion, it doesn’t last long. Sam nearly knocks over his chair in his haste to hug Steve tightly. Bruce, quiet though he normally is, lets out a startled cheer; Eira embraces Steve gently, murmuring about how happy she is for Tony and him. Clint shouts “They’re pregnant!” at a bemused Thor, and the puzzlement immediately clears from Thor’s face, replaced by a radiant smile; he stands, claps a heavy hand onto Tony’s shoulder, and wraps an arm around Steve, his voice loud and booming as he congratulates them. Steve makes a mental note to remind Tony to talk slower, especially with important announcements. Thor isn’t dumb – not by a long shot – but sometimes, Tony speaks like he’s the Energizer bunny after drinking three gallons of coffee, and even Pepper has, on occasion, had troubles understanding him or following the thread of conversation. Havardr is just as exuberant in his congratulations as Thor and Sam. Loki raises his water glass in Steve’s direction. Steve grins and dips his chin. Nat’s head lands on his shoulder; he glances down to see that her eyes are sparkling, and a light smile dances at the corner of her lips. Coulson stares at Steve speculatively, eyes cataloguing everything about Steve’s appearance. When finished, he shrugs and stands to shake Tony’s, then Steve’s, hand. Pepper is crying as she hugs Tony tightly, tight enough that he’s beginning to wince.

“Might I offer my congratulations and best wishes, as well, Captain?”

“’Course you can, JARVIS. Thank you.”

Steve stares around at the family he’s found in this new century, smiling until his cheeks start to hurt and then smiling some more.


	13. chapter twelve

As if overnight, the Avengers, Pepper, and Coulson are practically experts on pregnancy. Thor had gone back to Asgard with the letter Steve wrote to Frigga and returned with a rose-gold orb (“’Tis for the babe once they are born,” he declared as he handed it to Steve). Rhodey thought Tony was joking when told the news shortly after dinner; only when Pepper confirmed it did he believe it, but Tony knows Rhodey well enough to be aware that, until the baby is born, his best friend will continue to have a kernel of doubt. Tony regrets ever having pulled elaborate pranks on Rhodey.

Three nights later, Tony emerges from the workshop after a very unproductive couple of hours. A hand latches onto his arm the moment he steps into the corridor; Natasha smiles wickedly at him, and he sighs, resigning himself to be pulled into whatever scheme he’s planning. Refusing to follow along with what she wants always ends poorly.

“What the –?”

The entire communal living room has been redecorated: A long buffet table is pushed against one wall, and the couches and chairs have been arranged into a large square. The bar is dotted with buckets, bottles tucked into beds of ice. An enormous banner hangs from the ceiling; _Congratulations, Steve and Tony!_ screams down at everyone in a multitude of colours, all of which are neon against a vivid purple background. Tony huffs out an amused laugh when he sees the two arrows holding the banner in place. A smaller table holds a pile of wrapped presents.

Steve hands him a champagne glass. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey.” He presses a gentle kiss to Steve’s temple. “What’s going on?”

“ _This_ would be the product of our family going a bit overboard at the news.”

“Ah, c’mon, Cap, how many times are we ever gonna have a reason as good as this to party?”

“Clint, you and Thor decided to throw a party because you got out of a speeding ticket.”

Clint grins, completely unashamed, and slides off the counter. “Oh, yeah. That one was fun.”

Tony shakes his head before giving in to the insistent hands pushing him toward a sofa. He sits, glares at Natasha who shrugs and disappears through the people gathered. Pepper joins him within minutes; she has two plates in hand, passing one over to him.

“I really am so happy for you two,” she murmurs.

“Thanks, Pep. It means a lot to us. To _me_. If you’d have been against this…”

“I was – at first. I mean, Loki and magic? Not exactly my favourite things, especially since you’re still a bit...troubled by what happened. But Steve’s involved, and I knew you’d do anything for him, and you’re such a smooth talker that you could easily convince an ice queen that her kingdom needs more ice, let alone convincing yourself that what Steve wants is more important and you’d somehow be failing him if you didn’t go along with this.” She sighs, watching Steve laugh and Chat with Coulson. “I’m glad I was wrong, though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy about anything. I am so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Pepper.”

She smiles and reaches for his hand, squeezes gently. “Just don’t ask me to babysit. I’ve done enough of that with you.”

“ _Hey_!”

Pepper walks away laughing. Tony spends the next ten minutes being congratulated (and sending the well-wishers in Steve’s direction; “He’s doing all the work, really”) and making sure his partner isn’t getting too overwhelmed by all the attention. He hands Steve gifts one by one, watching as more and more baby-related items are opened: Boxes of diapers, multiple three-packs of wipes, outfits and onesies, blankets, bottles, pacifiers… Tony loses track of everything. Sam, Thor, and Natasha gather up the presents, take them to the penthouse, while Coulson and Tony pick up the wrapping paper from the floor. Bruce keeps Steve company, discussing all the information given in the pregnancy books.

"Can I have something other than sparkling juice?" complains Clint, plopping down onto the couch. He winces when Pepper's pump and Coulson's dress shoe find their targets on his shins. "Evidently not. Okay, listen up 'cause I don't do this a whole lot. Ya know, when Steve and Tony told us they wanted to have a baby, which meant Loki would be around, I was... Well, I was pissed. Why couldn't they just _adopt_ or have a surrogate like every other rich, gay couple? But now, I'm okay with that asshole sticking around, because two of my best friends are getting what they want, and if anyone deserves to have their heart's desires coming true, if anyone deserves to have the chance to create a family, it's Steve. Not so sure about _Stark_ -" He cuts off as everyone laughs, even Tony. "Nah, even that stubborn ass deserves it. What I guess I'm trying to say is, congratulations, you two. I'm incredibly honoured that you'd allow me to be involved in any aspect with your child, and I'm beyond thrilled that you two are getting what you want. I call dibs on being the favourite uncle!"

“And for that, you can have a beer – _after_ Steve goes to bed!” Tony calls out over the cheers and laughter from their friends – their _family_.

 

 

It’s been a month since the news was broken, and Tony can’t go a day without hearing at least five things baby– or pregnancy-related. Natasha and Steve have gone shopping a handful of times, but she’s refused to give Tony any clue as to what they’ve bought. Tony doesn’t really mind – Steve’s over the moon, Nat’s not threatening to kill anyone (who doesn’t deserve it), and Tony’s been able to focus on work a little easier, so it’s all a win in his eyes.

He wakes one morning to Steve hurrying out of bed, sighs softly, and follows after the pregnant blond in time to pull his hair out of the way. The morning sickness has eased quite a bit since the second trimester began, but there are days where vomiting for twenty minutes is their wake-up call. They brush their teeth side by side, head to the shared kitchen together. The only other person there already is Coulson. Tony thinks about making a joke about the lack of paperwork, but Steve still looks a little green, so Tony stays quiet and starts dicing up apples, the one food they’ve found that calms Steve’s stomach.

Tony’s just stepped into his office when a video screen appears. The head of R&D gives him a sympathetic smile, an apology, and a brief rundown on the newest disaster in the making. Tony stares longingly at the mug of coffee sitting on his desk, left there two minutes before his arrival by his assistant; ultimately, the thought of Pepper yelling at him for not helping meet deadlines proves to be an incredible motivator, so he turns on his heel and heads back toward the elevator.

It isn’t until damage control is done and the prototype is back on schedule, and he’s watching the setting sun through his office windows, that something in his brain starts nagging at him. He tries to remember on his own, but no information is forthcoming. With a sigh, he asks JARVIS for what the day’s plans were before the R&D screw-up.

“Nothing was scheduled for this morning, sir.”

Tony turns away from the view outside the window. “And this afternoon?”

“The sonogram was set for two-thirty.”

“The – oh, shit, _fuck_ , are you serious? Oh, God, Steve’s gonna kill me. Damn it, why didn’t you remind me, JARVIS?”

“I do apologise, sir, but –”

Tony ignores the rest of what the AI is saying, opting instead to drop into his chair and let his head bang on the desk’s surface. _Steve is going to_ kill _me_ , he thinks to himself, _He’s really, actually going to do it, I promised I’d be there, he’s not gonna want to even be with me any more, not after missing this._ He barely gets the words out for JARVIS to initiate a privacy lockdown before he’s reaching for the bottle of scotch he keeps on hand for celebratory purposes (though lately, it’s been mostly decorative).

By the time the bottle is empty, the clock reads past two in the morning, and JARVIS has an angry silence about him; most people would say a glorified computer programme is incapable of emotions, but Tony coded JARVIS, knows every line and loophole and redundancy by heart, so he’s aware of how capable of _anything_ the AI is. And right now? The silence isn’t the peaceful quiet of JARVIS awaiting orders. It’s the silence that only comes from a loved one who is two seconds from murdering you in your sleep.

Tony feels drunker than he has in such a long time – since before Steve barrelled into his life and made him want to be a better man. He stumbles to the couch used for naps after working so long, he starts hallucinating. His brain is full to the brim of Steve’s disappointed face or, even worse, the expression he wears screams that he had low expectations of success and it turned out he was right. Tony _hates_ that look, he saw it often enough in the beginning, and thinking about having to see it again sends a wave of nausea through him. He nearly misses the trash can as he vomits.

“Tequila is a terrible mouthwash,” he mutters to the empty room even as he swallows down another mouthful from the bottle he found stashed in the bottom drawer of his desk.

“Sir, I must advise against the use of the Iron Man suit in such an intoxicated state.”

“I’ve – I’ve got this, J, just, just dim the lights, wouldja?”

“That would be the sun, sir. I am incapable of controlling the brightness of that particular ‘light’, though I know it must be bothersome to you at the moment. _Sir_!”

Tony swerves in time to avoid clipping a building, swallows down the bile that rises at such a sharp turn. “I’m okay, promise.”

“Ms Potts is calling once again. Shall I continue to enable you in ignoring her?”

“Duh. I don’t need to deal with that right now.”

“As you wish,” JARVIS sighs before falling back into that damning silence.

Pepper’s brownstone is blissfully dark and cool; Tony sheds the armour and falls face-first onto her couch. He’s asleep within moments.

 

 

The ground is great for walking across, not so much for landing on after being forcibly shoved off a quite comfortable couch. Tony groans, then groans again when his head starts splitting open – or at least _feeling_ like it is. He cracks open an eye, blinking away the gummy gunk sealing his lashes together. Someone _has_ to be stabbing him directly in the brain, because pain like this just isn’t natural.

“What the Hell do you think you are doing?”

His bleary gaze follows the lines of a smooth leg, from high heel all the way up to the hem of a pencil-skirt, finally focusing on Pepper’s face, and – oh, boy, she looks pissed.

“Of _course_ I’m pissed, Tony! I’ve spent the last god knows how many hours searching for you everywhere while trying to keep the company running smoothly, not letting anyone know you were nowhere to be found, and oh, that’s right – trying to comfort your boyfriend, who is understandably upset because we couldn’t find you and JARVIS wasn’t giving us any answers, so we thought maybe he was malfunctioning or hacked, which seemed more than likely when my override code, nor James’s, didn’t work. And all this time, all I had to do was _come home_ , and I’d find your drunk ass?”

“In my defence –”

“Oh, this oughtta be good,” drawls a previously-unseen Clint from his perch on the counter separating the kitchen and living room.

Tony sighs and struggles to sit up. “As I was saying, in my defence, I’ve only been here since six-thirty this morning.”

“And where were you last night?” Pepper snaps. “David said you and the team finished around eight last night. Even with giving you a couple hours’ leeway for a quick nap, you still should’ve been home by ten, eleven at the latest. So imagine my surprise when I get a phone call at two in the morning from a panicking Steve asking if I’ve seen you in the last few hours. Imagine my surprise when I try to get into your office at six o’clock only to be told by your damned AI that you’re not on the premises but ‘I can assure you, Ms Potts, Mr Stark is in good health’. Imagine my surprise –” Her voice rises, fills with rage. “– when Clint and I, after spending – what was it, seven hours? – running around all of Manhattan, decide to stop in so I could change my shoes before my feet started bleeding from all the blisters I’ve obtained during this absolutely immature game of hide-and-seek, and we find you _sleeping off a goddamn bender on my couch_!

“This is possibly – No, this _is_ the worst thing you have ever done, Tony. I have stood by your side and defended you through scandals, bad decisions, unpleasant choices that left a lot of people unhappy, through everything. But I will not defend you or make excuses for you through this. You’re on your own. Clint, please get him out of here, take him home. I… I can’t do this right now.”

“You got it, ma’am.”

Pepper limps away down the hall, and Tony watches her go, feeling a lot like a bug stuck in a wad of chewed bubblegum stuck to the bottom of a four-inch heel. Clint drags him to his feet, waits until Tony’s stopped gagging, then guides him rather forcefully to the front door. His grip tightens on Tony’s arm when the genius makes a move toward the armour.

“Nope. It’ll still be here when Pepper and Steve aren’t so close to strangling you.”

Happy wears an uncharacteristically sombre expression, doesn’t greet Tony beyond a succinct “Boss” as he opens the rear door to Pepper’s favourite town–car. The drive back to the tower is quiet with the partition up and Clint refusing to speak; Tony sees the hearing aids resting on the seat. So he dry-swallows a couple ibuprofen, sits back, and tries not to freak out in the time it takes for the car to finally park in the underground garage.

“Where to, sir?”

“Penthouse, J.”

JARVIS doesn’t say anything else, just gets the elevator rising. Tony’s fingers taps an unsteady beat against his thigh as the lift makes its way up, up, up; he nearly steps off when it stops until he sees that he’s only on the gym level and Natasha is standing just beyond the doors. _Oh, shit_ , is all that runs through his mind as he takes in the sight of her blank, expressionless face, the way her body is tensed with unleashed anger.

“Going up?”

Her mask slips; she glares, shifting her weight minutely. “Let’s go.”

“I – I’ve got other plans, thanks.”

“Now.”

“And I’m coming,” he concedes when he catches sight of the Widow’s Bites in her hand.

He’s still wearing his suit pants and dress shirt, and the pain in his head hasn’t fully disappeared, but Natasha doesn’t seem to care as she kicks his ass from one end of the gym to the other. His body gains a few bruises in just a handful of minutes. While he is clambering to his feet again after a particularly nasty swipe to his legs sent him flying backwards, she speaks; her voice is cold.

“You fucked up. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I think I figured that out somewhere between Pepper giving me a very delicate wake-up call, JARVIS being such a chatterbox, and now this so relaxing and peaceful workout.”

“Steve wasn’t even mad that you weren’t there. Pepper called and explained what was going on, so he was okay with doing it alone. Well, without you, anyway, he wasn’t alone – Sam and I went with him. Would he have preferred you were by his side? Yes. Did he want to punch whoever screwed up in R&D, in the face? Yes. But he was _not_  
“If he really wanted to know, he could’ve used the override code I programmed specifically for him, for that reason,” Tony wheezes as he sprawls across the mat.

Before he can blink, Natasha is straddling his chest, her knee against his throat. He swallows and stares up into her eyes; he can still breathe easily, but he knows she’s serious, doesn’t voice the innuendo-laden joke that pops into his brain.

“You don’t get it, do you? Steve _trusts_ you. He would _never_ use that code unless it was a matter of life or death and there was no other choice. You made him feel like he’d somehow done something wrong when what he’s doing is carrying _your_ child. I swear to every God in existence, if you fuck up like this one more time, _I_ will make you pay. Stop letting your issues and lack of self-confidence get in your way of good sense. You have a child to think about now.”

She rises and walks away without looking back. Tony waits until she has disappeared into the elevator to climb to his feet; her words echo in his head, and he sighs. This is going to take a while to make up for.

Steve is sitting on the couch in the penthouse staring blankly at the television. Some redheaded woman is baking some homey comfort food on the screen, but judging by Steve’s expression, he’s not taking in any of the show. Tony watches his partner, watches the way his breathing is intentionally slow and steady, watches the way he blinks far too often to be natural. He wants nothing more than to hold Steve tightly; he knows that the action is far from advisable at the moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. Steve reaches forward, grabs the remote, and turns off the TV. He doesn’t look toward Tony at all, so Tony decides to take the initiative.

“Steve, I am so sorry –”

“I really, really don’t want to talk about this right now, Tony.”

“But I need to –” he begins but is interrupted by the way Steve stands suddenly and starts walking toward the bedroom.

“We’ll discuss this later. Please, Tony, _please_.”

“When’s ‘later’ going to be?”

“When I no longer doubt whether you’re actually in this _with me_.”

When Steve emerges from the bedroom, he’s changed into his pyjamas; he doesn’t look at Tony as he passes by him to the door.

“Where are you going?” questions Tony, sounding slightly hysterical.

“I’m going to sleep at Natasha’s tonight. Goodnight, Tony.”

Tony watches as Steve steps onto the elevator, watches as Steve stares at the floor as the doors close. The penthouse rings with the deafening silence left behind. He crosses the room, dropping onto the couch where Steve had sat. The lights of the city shine brightly through the tall windows; with a sigh, he lets his head fall back against the couch, stares up at the ceiling.

“Well, that… did _not_ go according to any kind of plan.”

JARVIS’s lack of response is just the cherry on a shit sundae.


	14. chapter thirteen

It takes two days for the hurt and anger over Tony’s latest stunt to fade. Steve is grateful that, for once, Tony has accepted that Steve needed some space. Sam’s tried to help Steve sort through the chaos of his emotions; Bruce told Steve to remember that bad habits never die easily, and even then, they tend to show up at the most inopportune times; Thor has been confused by, but understanding of, the lack of affection being displayed between Tony and Steve. Pepper had sent the Iron Man armour back to the tower the day after she found her ex-boyfriend sleeping off a hangover, a Post-It note taped to the inside of the faceplate. Tony handed the note over to Steve without a word, then disappeared back into his workshop where he’s spent the last forty-eight hours, according to JARVIS.

Which is why Steve is tapping his code in the keypad of the door. It slides open, and Tony’s music cuts off abruptly. The genius glances up at Steve, smiles tightly, then goes back to staring at the holoscreen.

Steve sighs. “I’m… I’m not happy, exactly, that you drank the way you did, but you’re a grown adult, you can make your own decisions about your health. But you just disappearing like that made me wonder if I’m going to be doing this all on my own, whether this was a – a mistake. It’s, well, it’s a terrible feeling, and I don’t want to feel it again. I can’t keep dealing with the uncertainty of if and when you’ll start resenting me for this. Yes, I’m the one who brought up the discussion and the idea of a child, but you agreed. This is _our_ child, not just mine. If you’re going to change your mind, be an adult, and talk to me. Because that was… That was unacceptable.”

The moment Steve stops speaking, Tony starts. “I know, Steve, and I’m sorry. I really am. I got lost in my head, all the doubts and insecurities, and I know it’s not a valid reason, it’s just an excuse to justify being an enormous dumbass, and there’s nothing I could say to make what I did okay, but I am so sorry. You’re right, you’re absolutely right, I _should_ have talked to you like an adult, but I didn’t. I am in this with you. I want you, I want this baby – _our_ baby. I really do.”

“Then stop hiding whenever something goes wrong!” Steve sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been really good at talking things through with me, excluding the time before all of this started. What happened?”

Tony slumps in his seat, stealing a glance at the screen. Steve pulls a stool closer, sits beside his partner. On the screen is a copy of the very first sonogram, blurry white and grey against black. The brunet strokes a finger gently over the picture.

“I didn’t know Pepper called you until after I came home. I remember standing in my office and feeling like I’d forgotten something important. JARVIS told me I’d missed the sonogram, and I kinda… zoned out, I guess, so he might’ve told me you’d been informed of the disaster, but I didn’t hear him. I originally intended on having only a couple drinks, just enough to calm down, then coming home and groveling until you forgave me. But the more I drank, the more I convinced myself you were going to break up with me, move out, and only allow me to see the baby on the weekends. Then I didn’t want to come home drunk, so I slept it off at Pepper’s.”

“Did – did you _fly_ the armour _while drunk_?”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously. Besides, I think J took over halfway through, maybe sooner. I know, it was stupid and reckless, and I’m swearing to you now that it’ll never happen again. I will never endanger my life like that unless I have to.” Tony shrugs. “Can’t promise I won’t do something crazy while saving the world, but outside of that, I won’t.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve, uh, had some time to think over the last day or two. And… I think it might be a good idea to go back into counseling. What do you think? I’ll go if you want me to.”

“Only do it if you feel you need to. This isn’t my decision. I’ll support your choice either way.”

“I _am_ sorry, ya know,” whispers Tony, closing his eyes, and Steve reaches for his hand; the callouses and rough palms are achingly familiar.

“I know, sweetheart, and I forgive you, but please talk to me, okay?”

Tony nods, murmuring a soft _“Promise”_. The sound of a rapid heartbeat begin to play, and Steve leans against Tony, feeling at peace for the first time in days. They stare at the sonogram without speaking for a few minutes.

“Did you find out?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did. We’re gonna have a daughter.”

 

 

 

The car comes to a smooth stop outside the elegant cafe. Within moments, Happy is holding the door open, allowing Pepper to step out; Natasha is next, somehow managing to move gracefully in her form-fitting slacks and three-inch heels. Steve lets Happy to help him out of the car. Ice and snow cover the sidewalk, so Steve is thankful for the assistance, since he feels like his feet could slip out from under him with one wrong move. He follows his friends inside, shedding his coat once in the warmth of the cafe; the staff smiles politely at Pepper, greets Natasha with a “Good morning, Ms Rushman”, and pretend not to be staring at the curve of Steve’s belly. Once the trio is seated and has ordered their drinks, Pepper picks up her menu from off the table, opening it and scanning the options.

“Did he apologise?”

Steve starts, glancing around at the other diners; nobody pays any attention to them. “Uh, yeah, he did.”

“You didn’t do that thing where he says sorry and you automatically forgive him whether he means it or not, did you?” Natasha asks in a light voice, her eyes never straying from the menu in her hands; Steve sighs, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

“No, I didn’t automatically forgive him. I did listen to him, though. He explained that his insecurities got the best of him and that he knows it isn’t a good enough reason. He even offered to go back into therapy.”

“He did?” Pepper questions as her eyebrows disappear into her fringe.

“Yes. I told him to do it if he felt it was necessary and I’d support him no matter what he decides.” Steve takes a sip of his water. “Did you know J wasn’t talking to him?”

Natasha cocks her head to the side. “I thought he seemed a little...lonely over the past couple of days. I suppose his oldest best friend giving him the cold shoulder would explain it, especially when combined with the fact the love of his life was _also_ not speaking to him.”

“I’m glad you guys talked,” interjects Pepper, smiling gently at Steve. “Promise me, though, that you won’t just accept this type of behaviour in the future, if it happens again.”

“You deserve better than that,” adds Nat.

“I–I won’t. I think this last talk kinda opened our eyes to how bad things can get if there’s no actual conversation.”

“Good. He’s my best friend, closer and dearer to me than pretty much anyone else in my life, and I’ll always love him, but he can sometimes lose himself in that giant brain of his.”

Steve nods, because he understands. He may not have been by Tony’s side for as long as Pepper or Rhodey has, and he certainly wasn’t there during the Afghanistan ordeal, but he’s well-versed in the pitfalls of dating a genius who owns and creates world-changing products for one of the largest multinational companies on Earth. Tony has a mind that rarely stops; even in the middle of mind-blowing, toe-curling sex, Steve runs the risk of overhearing his partner mumbling random equations to himself. More than one dinner has been postponed due to an emergency at work or Tony having a breakthrough on a problematic design, and that’s not even counting the times the alarm went off and they had to suit up. Explaining to Fury why they were later than the rest of the Avengers the one and only time it happened had been awkward and embarrassing, and it was even worse hearing _“We’re five minutes late because my dick was in his ass when the call came in, and there was no way I could stop”_ in Iron Man’s modulated voice. Steve didn’t live that down for _months_ afterward. The crude jokes never bothered Tony; he seemed to bask in the attention. Thankfully, it only happened once.

By the time they finish shopping, Steve is exhausted and freezing. Pepper sends Happy to the tower with the bags; it takes some persuading, but he eventually agrees, leaving with a promise to be back immediately. Natasha steps away for a few minutes, reappearing with three to-go coffee cups. Steve spirals from the slits in the lids; she passes a cup to Steve, another to Pepper, and keeps the third for herself.

The cold doesn’t seem to have kept the city indoors, but none of the people appear to have any desire to linger. They push their way down the sidewalks, speak only to the ones they’re with, and none of them give a damn that they pass by the CEO of Stark Industries, the Black Widow, and the “woman” who’s currently pregnant with Captain America and Iron Man’s baby. Steve sips his hot chocolate and listens as Pepper and Natasha commiserate over the misogynistic tendencies of men in high positions of power. He wants to sympathise, as he’s recently undergone the same treatment from random men on the street, but he keeps quiet: A few instances, creepy and disgusting though they were, pale in comparison to a lifetime of experience.

They have just rounded the corner, the last turn before reaching the tower, when Pepper abruptly stops.

“What the Hell.”

A large group of people are clustered around the main doors, another in front of the private entrance. Natasha grips Steve’s arm tightly, muttering an order to backtrack and go through the garage, but before the command can be executed, someone spots them, shouts their names. Everyone turns as one; camera are lifted onto shoulders, cell phones held up, and multiple voices start firing off questions.

“Ms Crawford, is it true that you’re finally pregnant?”

“Which one did you sleep with to make it happen, Tony Stark or Captain Rogers?”

“Are you _actually_ pregnant, or is it a scam?”

“How much are you getting paid to be a glorified incubator?”

“Do you consider yourself so easily expendable that you’re okay with pushing out a baby for them and immediately forgotten? How does that feel?”

Steve can feel the pressure of Nat’s fingers on his arm, but he’s too busy fighting off the nausea as more and more questions are shouted; a camera is pushed in his face, and he ducks his head to avoid being filmed with tears in his eyes. He follows Natasha blindly, only the tight grasp and tugging keeping him upright. Pepper’s voice is cold, hard, as she says something Steve can’t make out over the ringing in his ears. The sound of the reporters fades, becomes muffled, but Steve can still hear them. Natasha’s delicate hand disappears from his arm only to be replaced by a solid weight along his shoulders.

“Take us to Tony, J-Man.”

They’re moving before the words are fully spoken, but JARVIS replies anyway, a thread of anger in his voice.“Of course, Agent Barton.”

“Breathe, Steve. C’mon, there ya go. We’re almost there, just a bit more. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that shit. Come on, you gotta move, buddy, one foot in front of the other.”

“What the fuck happened?” Tony’s hands are warm against Steve’s cheeks, and Steve blinks, finally able to focus on his surroundings. “Are you okay? Thanks, Clint, I got it from here.”

Clint strokes a hand over Steve’s hair. “Relax, Cap, you’re safe. Oh, hey, Stark?”

“Hmm?”

“You might need bail money set aside.”

The archer disappears without another word. Tony holds Steve as tightly as he dares; Steve clings to his partner, still shaking from what happened downstairs. He can’t quit reliving it, over and over. With a squeak, he shoves Tony away, rushes to the attached bathroom, and drops to his knees in front of the toilet just in time. Gentle fingers scrape strands of hair away from Steve’s face, holds his hair hair out of the way as he vomits up everything in his stomach. Tony murmurs soft reassurances the entire time, rubbing Steve’s back soothingly until the blond is done. Steve considers protesting when Tony cancels the rest of his meetings and plans for the day, but ultimately, he lets it go, lets Tony comfort and hold him and keep the world outside.


	15. chapter fourteen

Tony slips out of bed slowly, gingerly. Between the pregnancy and yesterday’s events, Steve skipped dinner and fell asleep within minutes of lying down last night. Tony still hasn’t gotten a collect call from the local jail requesting bail money, so he’s made the decision to execute Plan B.

Louisa answers after the third ring, sounding half-asleep.

_“Mr Stark, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”_

“Hey, I know it’s disgustingly early, but I need you to do something for me, please.”

_“What’s up, boss?”_

He explains what he wants then spends the next five minutes convincing, begging, and bribing her not to tell Pepper. She isn’t too happy about it but gives in anyway with grace. He hangs up as soon as she’s promised – again – to keep it between the two of them; his shower is rushed, and he manages to shave in five minutes. He dresses quickly then checks on Steve. The blond is still sleeping, so Tony presses a soft kiss to his hair and quietly leaves the room. After recording a message for Steve to be played when he wakes up, Tony heads to the garage, gets in one of the more nondescript cars, and drives to the location had instructed him to. A staff member leads him through the halls into a large room where everything has already been set up. Tony makes a mental note to give his PR manager a raise for her efficiency.

Barely fifteen minutes have passed before he’s beckoned out into the centre of attention. He leans against the podium, staring at the faces of dozens of reporters and journalists, cameramen and security; a few of the ones who accosted Steve outside the tower yesterday are sitting amongst the rest, looking for all the world like they’ve done nothing wrong. Tony struggles against the urge to walk over and punch them in their damn faces. He doesn’t actually do it – yay for maturity and self-control! – but gods, does he want to. Instead, he waits patiently until the crowd is quiet before speaking.

"It has come to my attention that some of your fellows decided to camp out in front of my residence, wait in the blistering cold for possibly hours, and pretty much assault three women who are very dear to me. A couple of you are even in this room right now! Yes, Jack, I'm talking about you and Leon, and you, too, Price. Now, normally, I'd kick assholes like you out, but this is something you definitely need to hear.

“I know Ms Potts promised severe legal action against you if any of you are caught on the premises without permission. But that is _her_ method. This is mine, and this is your only warning: If you feel the need to verbally attack or harass anyone in my life - be it my employees, my friends, or my family - you will _not_ like the outcome. If I hear of anything happening to Ms Crawford, and I don't give a damn whether it's physical or verbal... If I hear of something like this happening again, you will regret that decision for the rest of your life. That's not a threat, either. It's a promise."

Tony walks away before anyone says anything else. Hell, he’s not sure the message has fully sunk into their thick skulls, but he has said his piece. It’s up to the idiots to make heads or tails of it. The drive to SI is filled with clips of his impromptu speech and the radio-show hosts debating whether he had the right to say what he did.

“Mr Stark? Ms Potts would like to see you in her office.”

“Of course. Thanks, Gary. Hey, how’s the family?”

The security guard shakes his head with a smile. “No can do, sir. Ms Potts was clear in her instructions.”

“Fine. You’re no fun.”

“I like my job, sir.”

Tony laughs when Gary shrugs, says a goodbye, and heads toward the elevators. He’ll never admit that he stuffs himself into a nearly full car at the last minute just to prolong the inevitable. Twelve stops later, he steps into the lobby outside the CEO’s office. Her receptionist gestures for him to go in, so he pushes the door open with his usual flair. Pepper is already glaring at him; he sheds the cockiness, closes the door behind him. At least she waits for him to sit before she launches into her tirade.

“What the _Hell_ were you thinking? Do you have any idea the damage control I’m going to have to do?”

“I’m sorry, but – Okay, let me explain before your head goes ahead and explodes, okay? When Barton brought Steve up to me yesterday, I… I’d never seen him that shaken. He was so pale and looked absolutely _terrified_ , then I spent twenty minutes holding his hair while he puked out his entire digestive tract. So after we got home and I got him to bed, I decided to see what happened, because nobody told me, and I was too busy comforting him to really push for answers, and I heard what was said by both you and those assholes, and I just saw red, really. When I didn’t get a call to bail Nat or Clint out of jail, I figured I’d go the less violent, more legal route.”

Pepper sighs, thumbs pressing circles into her forehead. “I can’t argue with your reasoning, but please explain why you didn’t give me a heads up?”

“I wanted to give you plausible deniability,” he answers, though it comes out as more of a question.

“That’s _worse_ , Tony! At least if I was warned, I’d be able to answer questions regarding the situation instead of being blindsided as I’m walking into work.”

“I’ll admit, I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Thank you for that refreshing bout of honesty,” she snarks dryly; Tony turns to watch the muted television, watches himself speak then walk away. “It’s been on a loop on all the major stations. The nicest I’ve heard is that you’ did the right thing in not accepting mistreatment of the people you care about. The worst –” She unmutes the TV.

_“Who is Tony Stark to sit on his pedestal, bitching about how his baby mama should not be questioned about anything? He’s no more special than Joe Schmoe down the block, he just has more eyes on him, so of course people want to know about the woman who’s supposedly carrying his baby because he decided he wants a kid but can’t without using outside assistance, because his lifestyle choices are so wrong. Everything about him is a sin, from his blatant homosexuality to the drugs, alcohol, and the sex tapes. The fact he and his – whatever, the fact that he’s not getting a child naturally, the_ right _way, is a sign that God isn’t happy about Mr Stark’s deviant behaviours.”_

Pepper presses the power button, and the outrage speaker disappears from the screen. Tony stares blankly at the television for a moment before bursting into laughter. He knows it isn’t _really_ funny – there are a lot of people who agree with the anti-LGBT+ stance – but it never fails to amuse him when his past antics are used as a weapon against him. He’s had far too many years to accept the mistakes he made in his personal life and the consequences caused, and besides, all the parties, booze and cocaine, random one-night stands… They all led to him being in the best relationship of his entire life, with a baby on the way. So he can’t find it in himself to regret those years too much.

“If that’s the ‘worst’, then I think we’re okay.”

“I know, but… You have to remember, Tony, there are shareholders, board members, even employees who believe the same thing.”

“We’ll deal with them if they decide to make a fuss,” promises Tony with a shrug. “They’ve known about my relationship with Steve since the beginning, over a year ago, and nobody’s said anything. I don’t see why they would now.”

Pepper sits back in her chair, blows out a breath. “I hope you’re right.”

 

 

The threat of legal and action and unspoken repercussions seems to do the trick: Though Thor, Clint, and Sam keep watch over the premises along with JARVIS through the next couple of weeks, each night and morning come with the same report: No violation. Happy has taken to staying by Steve’s side whenever he leaves the tower, and, even when Steve comes back and rolls his eyes, telling Tony about all the ways the Head of Security overreacted, he always seems to breathe easier when one more day passes without incident.

Tony stops by Steve’s art studio one evening, fully expecting the pregnant blond to still be there like his text message said. Instead, all Tony finds is an empty room. He examines the latest bit of work on the easel, smiles at the obvious shape of the arc reactor, and asks JARVIS to locate Steve. The AI takes a moment before answering.

“You will find Captain Rogers in the penthouse, sir.”

“I’m not sure I like the fact that you and Steve are conspiring together, J.”

“I do apologise, sir, but take heart in the fact we are not conspiring to take over the world.”

Tony chuckles. “I feel like there’s a ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence.”

“Perhaps, sir, perhaps not.”

Tony’s laughter slowly dies as he steps off the elevator and smells paint. He follows the odour to the spare bedroom that once housed an impressive collection of vintage liquors.

The hardwood floor has been covered with plush white carpeting; two of the walls, once a bland beige, are now a calming shade of blue, pale as the sky on a sunny day. A beautiful, glossy oak crib sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes of diapers and wipes and shopping bags, and a matching changing table is close by. Glow-in-the-dark plastic stars dot the ceiling in the shape of easily recognisable constellations. He turns to see Steve smiling sheepishly, while a face mask hangs from its elastic strap around his neck. Tony manoeuvres around the furniture, kissing Steve as soon as he’s close enough. That’s when he notices the third wall.

It’s a stretch of deep navy, almost black, speckled with stars toward the top. A big moon hovers above the fourteen Disney-style people – every member of their family from the Avengers to Pepper, Rhodey and Coulson, Eira and Havardr, Frigga and even Loki; a blank space glares from its place between the art versions of Steve and Loki, and he doesn’t even need to read the word _Baby_ written in pencil to know who that spot is reserved for.

He pulls Steve into a tight hug. “She’s going to love it.”

“Ya think so?”

“Honey, she’s half-you and half-me, so there’s no doubt in my mind that she will. You love art, I love you. She really has no choice not to.”

“You’re terrible,” laughs Steve as he pulls away. “I just… I couldn’t focus in the studio. I kept feeling restless, so I did this.”

“It’s amazing. I especially love Princess Coulson. Hey, can we talk?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

Tony helps Steve pack away the paints. “Remember the designs for the green plant we were working to get approved in Tokyo? Well, they were _finally_ okayed, so Pep wants me to go oversee the process, make sure it goes smoothly.”

“Okay.”

“That’s _it_?”

“Did you expect me to throw a fit about it?” Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly, his voice flat when he says, “No, don’t leave, I don’t know how I’ll survive without you.”

Tony gapes at Steve before letting out a small huff of laughter. “You’re such a smartass, how does nobody know this?”

“I’m a master at hiding it. But seriously, did you really expect me to be upset? You’ve left on business trips before.”

Tony doesn’t know how to explain his hesitance, especially when he knows Steve is right; this isn’t Tony’s first business trip during their relationship. “Yeah, but you’re pregnant this time.”

“And I have plenty of time before the baby is born. So unless you’re telling me you’ll be gone for the next five months, it’s really no different than any other time.” Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist, his blue eyes bright and beautiful as he smiles up at Tony. “Just do what you have to do, and come back to me, okay?”

“I’ll always come home to you,” whispers Tony.

They stand there in the nursery, holding each other for a few minutes. Tony isn’t sure how he ever got this lucky, but he’s not fool enough to question it – much.

 

 

“Tony, wake up. _Tony_.”

Tony peels his eyes open with a groan. “Time’sit?”

“About two, but here, give me your hand.”

Steve doesn’t wait for Tony to comply, just grabs his wrist and places his hand. Tony feels nothing but the movements of Steve’s breathing. He sighs, closes his eyes again; he is nearly asleep again when his brain registers the new sensation against his palm. His head pops up, and he stares at Steve’s belly. The small rippling motion happens once more a moment later. He drags his gaze to his partner’s face.

“Is that –?”

“Yeah, our baby is moving.”

“Oh, my God.” All thoughts of exhaustion gone, Tony sits up, keeping his hand firmly against the curve of Steve’s stomach. “She… Isn’t it too early for that, though? The baby books said you probably wouldn’t feel anything for a few weeks still.”

Steve smiles sweetly in the glow of the arc reactor, but he doesn’t comment on the fact that Tony has, indeed, read all the parenting books that Steve’s brought into their home. “I’ve been scouring message boards and forums, and everybody was saying the sixteen– to twenty-two week timeline isn’t necessarily a _rule_ , it’s more of an average.”

“It’s amazing,” Tony murmurs at another flutter; he presses a kiss to the blond’s rounded tummy. “Hey there, little one. I know there’s still a bit of a wait before you make your appearance in this world, but I’m so excited to meet you. So are your aunts and uncles, and especially your daddy. Never forget that your daddy and Papa will always love you, _bella_ , forever and ever.”


	16. chapter fifteen

It’s been five days since Tony left, and Steve is already miserable. He’s sat in on training sessions and watched Clint get his ass kicked by Natasha during scheduled (and unscheduled) sparring matches. In an effort to distract his friend, Sam has taken Steve out to brunches and the movies; Bruce loaned him books, but the mechanical technology only served to remind Steve that he still has at least a week before his partner comes back.

His mood slowly gains a tripwire during the course of the first week, to the point that the only people who spend more than ten minutes with him are Eira and Natasha; even Havardr tends to while away his days in Thor’s quarters. Steve tries to not snap at the others, he really does, but his best is obviously not enough, because more than once, he finds himself apologising for being short and irritable with his friends.

He’s just come back from a walk through Brooklyn, visiting the places that have stayed the same and mourning those that haven’t; he heads to the bedroom to write another letter to Bucky and stops in the doorway. On the large bed is a plain shipping box. The only indication as to who it’s intended for is the word _Steve_ written in Sharpie on the side; the handwriting is unfamiliar, causing a sense of foreboding to tingle up his spine.

“JARVIS? What is this?”

“It is a package for you, Captain. I can assure you it is perfectly harmless.”

“Who is it from?”

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information, as the sender wishes to remain anonymous.”

“But it’s not a bomb or anything?”

“Correct, Captain.”

With no small amount of trepidation, Steve toes off his flats and slowly nears the bed. It takes him a full minute to gain the courage to rip off the tape and open the flaps of the box. A piece of paper lies right on top; he pulls it out, sets it aside, and reaches for the items inside. From each of the three cloth bags tumbles –

“Oh, jeez.”

He unfolds the paper.

_Steve,_  
_We love you. Really, we do. So please remember that when we tell you that you’ve been a massive dick lately. Yes, your hormones are going crazy – we’ve tried to be understanding of that. Growing a baby is hard work. And adding on top of that the fact that Tony isn’t around to keep you satisfied sexually… Well, we suppose it would make any pregnant person more irritable than what is considered humanly possible._

_Please enjoy these gives. Hopefully, they help._

_All the love we can afford,_  
_Natasha & Pepper._

_P.S. Use 1 and 2 at the same time. It’s almost as good as the real thing. – P_  
_P.P.S. They’re already cleaned and ready to go, promise!_

Steve stares down at the letter a moment longer before turning his gaze to the contents of the package. “1” is a navy blue dildo, thick and long and realistic; he forces himself to look away. The second is a vibrator with a cylindrical tip attached to the body with a piece of flexible rubber. An electrical cord is wrapped around the length of the wand. The last item is another dildo that is a vivid pink and slightly smaller than the first; this one has a suction-cup base. He’s terrified to even question it, but there’s a note beside it with clinical instructions written in Pepper’s neat hand, followed by Natasha’s “ _For when you want to ride a dick”_. His face is hot, but he picks up the items that Pepper recommended.

“I feel like an idiot,” he mutters even as he comes to a decision.

Steve lays back against the sheets, panting and sweaty and feeling sated in a way that’s nearly enough. He slowly catches his breath and climbs unsteadily to his feet. After cleaning the toys and himself, and putting the bags in the back of the closet, he heads to the art studio. The easel still holds his latest work – a portrait of Jane for Thor, done by referencing a photo that Darcy sent him – but he can’t focus on painting the beautiful astrophysicist, not with his skin still feeling too tight. He places the canvas off to the side, starts a new one.

“I feel like I’m seeing more of Stark than I should.”

Steve jolts, knocking over the jar of water he uses to clean the brushes, and curses as he turns to face his visitor. “Knock, next time!”

“JARVIS said you gave permission,” Natasha replies with a shrug.

“Did I?”

“I apologise, Captain. You answered, so I was unaware that I did not have your full attention.”

“It’s okay, JARVIS. It’s not the first time I agreed to something unknowingly. So what’s up, Nat?”

“Nothing much. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Her voice is causal, and the words are certainly innocent enough, but Steve still flushes a deep red. His brain recalls the package without his permission; he’s absurdly grateful that his dick can’t betray him at the moment. He turns away from Natasha, though he is absolutely certain she’s already seen his burning cheeks, and covers the paint pots.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” She lets her gaze drift from the charcoal sketch of Peggy. “We’re about to watch a movie. You in?”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Clint, Sam, me. Maybe Loki, if he deigns to join.”

“Uh, sure, I’ll meet you down there in a few minutes.”

Steve doesn’t immediately make his way to the living room; instead, he heads to the workshop. The lack of loud music is enough to make his chest seize up, and he lowers himself onto the couch, wiping away tears. Dum-E rolls over from his charging station with an inquisitive beep, and Steve smiles sadly, brings one hand up to rest on top of the bot’s arm. Letting out a whine that sounds absolutely mournful, Dum-E lowers his claw until it lays on Steve’s belly, barely there but a steady presence nonetheless. Steve sniffs and blinks rapidly, but more tears come.

“Yeah, buddy, I miss him, too.”

He sits there in the deafening silence, holding onto Dum-E and staring around the workshop. Half-finished projects lay in piles of organised chaos on the tables, but all the tools are in their proper places, waiting to be used. A large pencil drawing is the only actual decoration; it’s one of Steve’s works, done shortly before he began dating Tony. It was a birthday present for the man who has nearly everything and can buy whatever he doesn’t. In the drawing, Tony and his bots are at the forefront, the centre of attention, working on an Iron Man suit. Natasha is to the left, sharpening knives with a small smile on her face while Sam reads _The Hobbit_ beside her. Thor is on the right, watches the genius, and Bruce stares into a microscope, pencil in hand and poised over a pad of paper. Clint perches toward the top left with his bow drawn and aimed at nothing in particular. Faint grey lines between the figures give borders to the shape and brilliance of the arc reactor.

Steve had wanted to paint it – the white-blue would have contrasted nicely with the red of Nat’s hair, the deep black of Dum-E and U’s frames, the rich brown of Sam’s skin – but he’d spent so long just _drawing_ it, that he risked missing Tony’s birthday. He’d waited until Tony was alone in the kitchen before giving it to him; the brunet had raised a brow at the choice in wrapping paper (a scarlet background dotted with little repulsor discs against a gold _IM_ ) but carefully peeled back the tape until the drawing, safe in a frame, was exposed. Steve struggled against his nervousness, and his palms grew sweatier the longer Tony stayed quiet. Finally, his dark eyes shifted from the art, pinning Steve with an intense, thoughtful look.

“This is amazing, Cap. One question, just an observation, really. Someone’s missing.”

“What? No, no one is. Well, they shouldn’t be, anyway. See, no, there’s Natasha, Bruce, Sam, Clint, Thor… They’re all there.”

“You aren’t.”

Steve stared in surprise, clearing his throat once he’d let the silence drag on uncomfortably long. “Uh, well, this is, um, how I see all of you, I guess.”

“Maybe you should start seeing yourself, too,” Tony muttered as he gazed down at the picture. He looked up again after a few moments, smiled. “Thanks, Steve. This… Thanks.”

A week later, Steve went down to the workshop to suggest upgrades for his suit and saw the picture hanging on the wall. He didn’t ask, and Tony didn’t tell, but Steve still hasn’t forgotten the rush of pride that came with seeing his art hanging on the workshop’s empty walls.

“Captain, forgive me for intruding, but Agent Romanov is inquiring about your location.”

Steve swipes at his cheeks, a watery laugh escaping when U rolls over with a box of tissues in his claw. “Thanks, U. Um, tell her I’ll be there in a moment, please, JARVIS.”

Sleep evades him. Steve tosses and turns, desperately trying to get comfortable, but the restless feeling persists. Finally, he gives up, a decision the baby seems to fully support if the way she’s moving around is any indication. He piles pillows behind his back, reclines against them, and grabs the book on his nightstand, one he borrowed from Thor. _The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers._

It’s been a little over two weeks since Tony left. Each day has gotten harder to deal with. Steve hates that this time apart has been more unbearable than any other time Tony’s been gone. Steve isn’t sure if it’s the hormones or something else; all he knows is he’s grateful that he’ll only have this last night alone, and then Tony will be home.

The sound of Billie Holiday singing pulls him from the world of Frodo and Gandalf. Steve sets the book aside, reaching for his phone. Tony smiles sleepily on the screen, a picture that Steve snapped in the early hours a month into their dating. Steve grins, thumb tapping the Accept button.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

_“Hey, beautiful love of mine. What are you doing still awake? I was fully intending on leaving a voicemail, but you’ve surprised me by being awake, why are you still awake?”_

Tony sounds exhausted, but there’s a smile in his voice. Steve shifts to get more comfortable.

“Couldn’t sleep. The bed’s too big without you. I can’t wait until you’re home again.”

_“Yeah, about that.”_

“Oh, no,” groans Steve; his stomach churns, the motion having nothing to do with the acrobatic baby in his womb, and Tony sighs down the line.

_“I’m sorry, Steve, I really am. But some dumbass moron, not naming any names – Bryan – miscalculated something rather important, so we basically have to restart nearly everything. I’m… I’m sorry. I know I promised I’d be home tomorrow, and I really wish I could keep that promise, but I can’t.”_

“It’s… It’s okay, Tony. I understand. I mean, it sucks, because I miss you, but this is your job. You can’t just walk away from it.”

_“I’m just going to create a Life Model Decoy of myself.”_

“For here or there?”

_“Oh, no, you’d be getting the real thing, babycakes.”_

Steve laughs softly. “As tempting as that is, I’m gonna have to veto that option. Just – just finish up there, then come home. Any idea how long it’ll take?”

_“Honestly, no idea. Since we’re having to start over from square three, and we_ were _at square twenty-five, it could take anywhere from a week to a month. I’ll know more by tomorrow, hopefully.”_

“Well, here’s to hoping it’s a relatively quick fix.”

_“Enough shop-talk. How’s our munchkin doing?”_

Steve slides a hand over his belly, chuckling – and then wincing – when a particularly hard kick lands against his palm. “She’s doing well, very active and healthy. The doctor says I’m lucky, that this pregnancy is, by all appearances, unnaturally easy.”

_“It’s definitely not the serum helping out.”_

“Oh, absolutely not. It’s all me.”

By the time they end the call, Steve is yawning widely, and even Baby is moving around less. He rolls onto his side, and this time, even through the disappointment of Tony not coming home tomorrow, sleep comes easily.

 

 

His skin is tight, too tight, and frustration simmers along his every nerve. He’s breathing heavily; a video plays on the holoscreen at the foot of the bed, but even the recording of the filthiest sex he and Tony’s had isn’t helping. Tears burn in his eyes. With an embarrassingly loud groan, Steve turns off the vibrator, tossing it to the side, and waves a hand. The video disappears, and the room is thrown into silence.

A wall of disappointment crashes over him. He’s tried multiple times in the last four days to take the edge off the tightly-coiled spring of arousal keeping him walking the fine line between unwavering irritability and outright lashing out. This past month without Tony is the longest he’s gone without even quick, rushed sex with his partner since the beginning of their relationship, and the hormones from this damn pregnancy certainly aren’t making this any easier.

Steve sits up and pushes damp hair from his face. Cheeks burning, he types out a message, deletes it, then retypes it, sending it before he can overthink it. Natasha’s reply comes within the minute.

_Of course I’m not busy. What’s up, Cap?_

He ignores the mortification and sends back, _I’m crawling out of my skin, and nothing is happening, no matter how hard I try._

**From: Natasha** _Have you tried watching porn?_

**To: Natasha** _Yes._

**From: Natasha** _What are you using?_

**To: Natasha** _The vibrator._

**From: Natasha** _Okay_  
**From: Natasha** _First off, relax. Stop trying so hard. Take a deep breath, calm down, and just enjoy the sensations._  
**From: Natasha** _Second, if porn isn’t working or helping, turn it off. Try using just audio instead, so that you’re not overwhelmed._  
**From: Natasha** _If it still isn’t happening, call Tony and have phone sex. I’m sure he would be more than willing to help you out._  
  
**To: Natasha** _I can’t interrupt his work._  
**To: Natasha** _But thanks, Nat._

Steve lays back, closing his eyes, breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly. The urgency fades away, the frustration loses its edge, as he consciously relaxes each of his muscles; when he feels less like he’s being turned inside out, he calls out for JARVIS to play just the audio. His gut clenches hotly at the first sound of Tony’s breathless moan. Steve slides a hand between his legs, forces himself to focus on the sensations rather than the end goal.

Unfortunately, masturbating doesn’t have quite the same effect as actual intercourse. Steve is still on edge, still cranky, no matter how many times he locks himself in his room. He’s slightly less liable to snap at the others for very minor annoyances, but this only means he’s keeping the complaints to himself.

He’s lounging on the sofa, his feet in Coulson’s lap, while _Die Hard_ plays on the television, when the elevator dings quietly. Phil doesn’t pause in the act of massaging Steve’s feet, even as Sam, Natasha, and Clint turn away from the movie. Clint lets out a relieved groan; he tosses his hands in the air before he stands and crosses the room in five long strides.

“Thank _fuck_ you’re back.” He pauses long enough that Steve lifts his head and peers over the back of the couch; Tony stands there, staring wide-eyed at the archer who has his hands on Tony’s shoulders. Clint leans in. “Please, for the love of our sanity, go. Fuck. Steve.”

Tony’s gaze drifts from Clint, finally lands on Steve, and Steve knows without a doubt that his cheeks are a furious shade of red. Phil gently pushes Steve’s feet off his legs, helping the blond to stand, and Steve makes his way to Tony’s side. The heat in his cheeks doesn’t fade, but he kisses Tony through the embarrassment. Steve sighs into the kiss, one that’s been five weeks overdue.

“What are you two still doing _here_?” Clint asks incredulously, frustration tinging his words. “Go, fuck, do _something_ to satisfy Preggo’s sex drive!”

Steve flushes even more; Tony laughs, wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and steers them toward the lift. The look on his face makes Steve squirm in delighted anticipation. Nat’s smirking face is the last thing Steve sees before the elevator doors slide shut.


	17. chapter sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sick, so have a chapter a day early.

“–ward Stark, you better fucking answer, I swear to God. _Tony_.”

Tony coughs weakly, a broken groan escaping when the movement jars his ribs. “I’m okay. I’m good.”

“Oh, thank – What the _Hell_ were you thinking?”

“I have no idea. What happened?”

Steve’s sigh is wet and harsh through the static of the comm line. “They had some device that froze up your armour.”

“That’s not possible,” objects Tony before lapsing into another hacking cough. “ _Fuck_. I shielded the suits against EMPs.”

“It wasn’t… Tony, are you okay? Just hang on, all right? Hulk, Thor, and Loki are trying to get you out, but the fight’s still going on. Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, honey. Calm down, deep breaths, okay? You know Doctor Cavendish said stress isn’t good for the baby, and I’ll be the first one she blames if she finds out you’re stressing. Don’t worry. I’m enjoying this little vacation from being a tin-wrapped human tennis ball.”

“Shut up,” Steve snaps, voice cracking with tears. “I’ll worry if I damn well want to. You’re not funny, you know.”

“Babe, is anybody with you?”

“Eira and Havardr are right here. Pepper and Rhodey are on their way to you guys.”

“ _Pepper_? Why _Pepper_?”

“She said she couldn’t just sit by and watch the ‘dumbass father’ of her unborn niece get killed while being a hero.”

“But… She _hates_ the suit,” Tony mutters; he vividly remembers Pepper’s reaction to the armour he built specifically for her.

“Her love for you evidently outweighs her hatred of being in a suit, even one designed for saving your ass when you do something dumb.” Steve pauses. “JARVIS, how’s he doing?”

“Belay that, J. Steve, c’mon, don’t. I’m fine. I mean, I wouldn’t say no to getting outta here soon. This hotel sucks, my reservation _clearly_ called for a spacious room. This is the opposite of spacious. Guess I’m just glad I’m not claustrophobic.”

“Can you please be serious? You got injured, and I’m not there.”

“No, I can’t be serious, Stev _en_ , I tend to break out in hives. Wait – I’ll call you back, all right, I love you.”

“Tony –”

Reluctantly, Tony cuts the comm’s link and takes a steadying breath. His chest burns every time he inhales and exhales, but he can’t exactly stop breathing, since it’s a rather important part of being alive. The sound of steel beams and heavy blocks being shifted can be heard, even through the layers of debris pinning him down, and Tony feels like he could kiss his rescuer. Ten excruciatingly long minutes later, a shaft of light appears; the left eye-slit of the faceplate is cracked, distorting the face that pops into view, but Hulk has never been a more beautiful sight. Tony refuses to kiss the giant green rage machine, though, no matter how grateful he is.

An enormous hand reaches for him, and Tony instinctively flinches, gasps when a lightning bolt of pain arcs through him. Hulk pulls him out of the rubble, the movement gentle – surprisingly so. Once Tony’s out and standing on solid ground next to Pepper, Hulk bares his teeth in what Tony hopes is a smile and bounds away with a roar. Pepper’s faceplate is already lifted, and she’s staring at Tony like she isn’t sure if she should hug him or strangle him. Tony tries to remove his helmet but finds he’s unable to. The armour is dead, the connection to JARVIS severed; he follows Pepper to an alley that’s in one piece, away from the sounds of the fighting, where another suit stands ready. It takes a while, but finally, the last piece of the trashed armour clatters to the ground. Tony nudges the pile with his toe, sighing, and Pepper smiles gently.

“I’m glad you’re still alive. Now get a move on. You have a date with Medical.”

“Do I – okay, yes, I have to, jeez. Enough with the eyes.” He steps into the armour, hisses when his wrist bangs against the metal. “ _Shit_ , damn, yeah, I’m going.”

 

 

Three hours later, Tony walks into the communal living room, a black cast encasing his left wrist and a bandage covering the stitches in his forehead. Steve immediately puts his mug of tea on the table and climbs to his feet. Tony lets the blond fuss over him for a few minutes, then pulls Steve in for as tight of an embrace as his body will allow.

“Careful,” he warns gently when Steve’s grip threatens to be too much. “Cracked ribs.”

“I thought you were dead. JARVIS said he couldn’t reach you, and you wouldn’t answer on the comms, and I was so scared.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. But I’m here, I’m okay, I promise.”

Tony holds Steve through the tears, the adrenalin crash, through even more fussing. By the time the rest of the team joins them, freshly showered and fed with the traditional post-battle meal, Steve has calmed down, but he doesn’t leave Tony’s side; when Tony goes into the kitchen for drinks and snacks, Steve watches him closely. Tony is more than willing to accept this mother-hen act.

After all, it means he’s _home_.

 

 

Tablet in hand, Tony makes his way to the sunroom, an enclosed balcony that was refurbished with heating and cooling, comfortable patio furniture, and everything else anyone might want or need. He’s just spent the last hour with Steve in his arms, reassuring his partner that he isn’t going anywhere. Every time Tony was sure Steve was asleep and tried to slip out of the bed, Steve would wake up panicking. Thankfully, the last attempt was successful. Tony has work to do for SI before Pepper gets on his ass for missing a deadline.

Tony drops down onto a chaise lounge chair, exhaling slowly against the pain in his ribs. Once it passes, he thumbs the tablet on and opens the schematics, but his concentration wavers. He finds himself staring out at the city, hazy glows of orange and whites, yellows and greens, blues and reds. His mother once described nighttime Manhattan as the closest thing to having the stars on Earth that humans would ever get. As a child, Tony believed her, but now he knows better. Now he knows that all it takes is a Norse god hell-bent on world domination, an alien race, and a portal tearing open the sky. He shudders at the memory of a galaxy full of brilliant stars against a backdrop of swirling colours, of the desperate hope of making it out alive, of accepting that this was how the man known as Tony Stark met his end.

“Are you scared?”

He jumps and _maybe_ lets out an undignified squeak, nearly tumbling off the chaise. “Damn it, Romanov, why do you insist on giving me a heart attack?”

“I was here first. It isn’t my fault you weren’t paying attention.” Natasha shifts, a silhouette against sparkling lights. “I thought you saw me.”

“Well, obviously, I didn’t. What do you mean, am I scared?”

She shrugs and takes a sip from the mug in her hands. “Exactly what I said: Are you scared?”

“Of you? Yes. I hear the healthy sense of fear I experience while in your presence is a good thing for my self-preservation skills.”

“You have no self-preservation skills,” she retorts with a soft laugh. “But no, I meant, are you scared of being a father? Of raising a child?”

“Oh, Hell yes,” he admits readily; it’s no secret that Tony’s publicly sworn off having children, though he’s never really given a reason – people only had to take one look at him, and they were sure they figured out why.

“Because of your past?”

“Surprisingly no. Just… I’m terrified I’ll end up just like Howard, always working, always gone, until one day I open my eyes to find that I’ve missed everything important, everything that really matters, and my kid hates me.”

Natasha is silent for a full five minutes. When she speaks again, she doesn’t take her eyes off the city lights stretched out for miles below them, and her voice shakes slightly. “I’m scared of my past. That I will somehow teach her lessons that were beaten into me. I’m scared she’ll end up like me.”

“I… don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

“I’m not trying to discredit your childhood – or lack thereof – or anything you went through, but you, Natasha, are in the Top Three bravest, most loyal, most _amazing_ people I’ve ever met. You… You’re _you_.”

“I’m a product of the Red Room, Tony,” she snaps coldly. “That’s all I am, a weapon they trained and taught and fucking _owned_ , until that idiot Clint risked his life to save me.”

Tony sets aside the tablet and crosses the sunroom to sit by her side. “And that right there proves that you’re _not_ just a tool used by someone else. A tool has no emotions, no preferences, no thoughts of their own. A tool wouldn’t have been able to walk away from all they’d known. But you did. You’re not the spy assassin for them any more. You’re a damn good spy for SHIELD, a badass Avenger, and the best aunt an unborn baby could ever dream of having.”

He looks away to give her some semblance of privacy as she swipes at her eyes. The smile she gives him is small and watery, but it’s _real_ ; he decides to push his luck, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. To his immense surprise, she allows it, even leans into his side. They sit in silence like that, staring down at the city and its inhabitants.

JARVIS interrupts them an indeterminate amount of time later, voice quiet as he informs Tony that Steve is awake. Tony sighs, steals a drink of Natasha’s tea (or, rather, she lets him, because he has no doubts that she could have stopped him if she wanted to), and hesitates before pressing a gentle kiss to her curls. He’s almost to the door when she calls his name.

“Please… Don’t let me teach her that stuff.”

“As long as you don’t let me become Howard.”

She smiles, a fleeting twitch of her lips, and nods.

He leaves feeling closer to the enigma that is Natasha Romanov.


	18. chapter seventeen

Steve sighs and rubs a hand over his belly. The baby has been much more active lately; he’s even felt a few kicks to his ribs. Doctor Cavendish had only smiled and warned him to get used to it, as it would become more and more difficult for the baby to move as freely over the next twelve weeks. Eira sits to his right, crocheting happily. Havardr is in the lab with Bruce, and the rest of the mismatched family that Steve loves is at a charity event.

A pale, slender hand places a glass of chocolate milk on the coffee table. Steve gives Loki a thankful smile before turning his attention back to the television. Dozens of celebrities are stepping out of their vehicles, smiling and posing for pictures, answering questions that are being shouted at them. Steve has been waiting (im)patiently for half an hour for a specific limo to appear on the screen. Once the guy who looks like Steve (if Steve had dark hair and a beard) disappears inside, cameras turn until the next vehicle is in focus.

Happy jumps out of the driver’s seat, pulls open the back door; Clint is the first to emerge, wearing a deep purple button-down and a blazer with his best pair of jeans. Sam follows in a fitted suit, turning back to help Natasha out. Bulbs flash brightly, rapidly, at the sight of her gown, all burnished gold clinging to her curves and ending in a gentle flare at the bottom. Thor and Jane are next. Even standing by a literal god, Jane is strikingly beautiful in a pale blue dress, more demure than Nat’s but no less stunning. Steve feels a stab of sympathy for her, knowing how uncomfortable and way out of her comfort zone she is. Tony finally steps out, and Steve’s breath catches. The tux he’s in fits Tony like a second skin. His Press Smile is already firmly on his face, and he waves and ducks back down to give Pepper a hand. Steve can practically see the headlines for tomorrow’s gossip columns, words screaming of Tony and Pepper being in a relationship again.

The cameras cut to where Natasha is talking to an interviewer; the others are all speaking to different someones in the media, all aiming for positive experiences to garner better press for the Avengers.

_“So, Miss Romanoff, I see everyone else, but where is Captain America?”_

_“He elected to stay home with Ms Crawford. He really wanted to be here tonight, but his first responsibility is to take care of her.”_

_“Speaking of Ms Crawford… Are you excited about the baby’s arrival in, what is it, three months?”_

_“Of course. We all are. This baby –”_

_“Well, I’m sure the others are, but you’re probably most excited about teaching it to throw knives with deadly accuracy before it even takes its first step, am I right?”_

The interviewer’s smarmy smile vanishes in an instant as Natasha’s eye narrow. The people around them turn, gasping and shouting when a sharp _crack_ sounds. Within seconds, Thor and Pepper are there; Thor grips Natasha’s arms and tries to steer her away from the man, and Pepper is whispering in her ear too quietly for anything to be heard. The camera pans away from the trio as Natasha is forcibly led to the limo. A distinct, vivid red handprint mars the interviewer’s cheek, and he stares after Nat with a dumbfounded expression on his face. The microphone clearly picks up his next words before the camera feed cuts out:

_“That fucking bitch.”_

Steve gapes at the blank television screen, horrified by what he’s just seen and heard. Eira has set her crocheting down and is glaring at the TV, muttering angrily and rapidly to herself in a foreign language. The silence in the room is deafening; with a heavy sigh, he scrubs at his face then searches for Loki who, in the stunned confusion, has disappeared from Steve’s side.

“JARVIS, where’s Loki?”

“He is in Thor’s quarters.”

“Is he okay?”

“The biometric sensors indicate physical signs of anger, but as far as I am able to ascertain, he is merely pacing.”

Steve blows out a breath and debates whether to ask Loki to come back. He decides to let it go, switching the channel to some show with a canned laugh track.

 

 

Natasha steps off the elevator, looking as unsure as Steve has ever seen her. She’s changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank; her hair is wet, and her face is bare of any makeup. She pads barefoot across the floor, comes to a stop at Steve’s knee.

“May I?” she asks quietly with a timid gesture at Steve’s belly.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

She sits on the couch beside him, one leg drawn up beneath her body, and rests a hand gently on his stomach. The baby immediately kicks and flips against her palm. Steve ignores the bright sheen of Natasha’s eyes as she murmurs softly in Russian. She rarely reaches out for comfort, and he’s not fool enough to say anything that might make her regret doing so this time.

“That man deserved far more than a slap.”

Natasha shrugs at Eira’s vehement statement. “I agree, but… It’s bad enough that I lost my temper like that on national television. If I’d allowed myself to do worse, I’d be in the Raft by now.”

“The Raft?” Eira and Steve repeat simultaneously.

JARVIS speaks up when Nat doesn’t answer. “The ‘Raft’ is an underwater prison that resides in the Atlantic Ocean, created solely to hold incarcerated criminals with enhanced abilities and-or superpowers.”

“That’s a _thing_?” Steve questions, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“It’s necessary. Ajax, the Abomination, Vanko… No ordinary prison would hold them. The world needs the Raft to keep them contained.”

“But they’d send _you_ there?”

“Steve, I’m ex-KGB. The only reason the United States government has kept me around so long is I’ve yet to fuck up. They don’t trust me, but they need my skillset. That, and Nick would make their lives miserable.”

Steve lets her words sink in, nodding to show he understands. His hand moves without permission. Natasha smiles as his fingers play with the ends of her hair. She begins talking to his belly again; her hand follows the baby’s movements. Slowly, the tension drains from her shoulders, and Steve is happy to see she’s calmer than before. He isn’t sure why she’s so shaken up – there has been much worse said about her before – but he knows she’ll tell him if she wants to. Until, he will just allow her to continue talking to her unborn niece.

 

 

________

 

 

Steve’s just sat down at the table between Coulson and Sam when JARVIS announces the presence of two police officers in the lobby. After exchanging a questioning look with Phil, Steve tells the AI to let them up. The elevator dings a moment later, and the cops step out. Their faces are solemn, but he can see the way they keep glancing around the living room, awed by the size and opulence. Loki rises from his seat at the end of the dining table, suddenly Captain America in civilian clothes. He crosses the kitchen with his hand extended.

“Good morning, gentlemen. What brings you by?”

“We need to speak with Ms Natasha Romanov. Is she available?”

“I’ll get her,” volunteers Coulson, standing at once and heading to the lift.

Loki gives the officers a pleasant smile, and Steve recognises it as his “ _I’m not happy about this, but I have to be polite_ ” smile. It’s odd to see his own expression on someone else’s face. Coulson returns in minutes, followed by both Nat and Clint. The archer waves good-naturedly then hoists himself up to sit on the countertop. The younger cop gives a half-hearted smile then lets his partner speak.

According to Officer Sanchez, the interviewer from the charity event was found in the middle of the night outside the emergency room. Security tapes show a taxi dropping his unconscious body off on the forecourt; when interrogated, the driver admitted to doing the ‘drop-and-drive’ after receiving a call. He’d arrived at the designated spot to find the man lying on a bench with a fifty-dollar bill and a note to keep the change in the breast pocket of his shirt.

“So far, there haven’t been any leads, no eyewitnesses. But you, ma’am, are the last person he was in contact with, who would have had any reason to attack him. Can you tell us where you were between midnight and one o’clock this morning?”

“Here. As soon as I left last night, I came straight home and watched movies until the team came stumbling in at three.”

“Anybody that can confirm that?”

“I can,” announces Steve; he lets Coulson help him to his feet then moves to stand beside Natasha. “She was with me the entire time. There’s also twenty four-hour monitoring on every room in this tower. We’d be more than willing to show you the footage.”

JARVIS helpfully projects said footage onto a holoscreen; the feed is timestamped from the moment Natasha entered the communal floor at 8:23pm, moving at five-times speed until it reached 02:49am. Thankfully, Loki had stayed in his room all night. Having to explain why the god who’d tried to take over the world is in the tower would have been difficult. Even better, the police accepted both the video and “Ms Crawford’s” word, and turned to leave, apologising for the interruption and bidding them all a good day. The elevator doors slide shut, and Steve sighs a breath of relief.

“Well, that’s not what I was expecting this morning!” laughs Clint cheerfully.

“What did you do, Barton?”

Clint puts on an innocent expression, turns wide eyes in Phil’s direction. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.”

“Clint.”

“No, honestly, Steve, all we did was have a very serious discussion about professional behaviour and not asking inappropriate questions. I have absolutely no idea how he ended up in the hospital. Hand to God, all we did was talk.”

Coulson sighs, dragging a hand over his face. He opens his mouth as if to say something, seems to think better of it, and simply walks away; Natasha follows. Steve waits until they’re gone before he faces Clint; Sam leans back in his chair, looking unruffled by the morning’s events.

“I’m not going to–to scold you, _either_ of you, but don’t do it again. That’s not how we do things around here.”

He can hear Clint protesting as he walks out of the kitchen ( _“Does no one believe me when I say **I know nothing**?”_ ). Tony is in the workshop when Steve makes his way down. The engineer is firmly stuck in work-mode, so Steve spends some time playing with the bots. Dum-E, for all the flaws in his code, keeps close to Steve, claw gentle as it strokes along the blond’s rounded belly. Tony’s made comments about not letting the bots touch ( _“Seriously, one wrong move, and we could lose the baby. Besides, you allowing them to get handsy spoils them – they’ve lasted this long on a steady diet of threats, insults, and hours-long monologues of fluent cursing, then you come along and ruin my hard work!”_ ) but Steve can’t find it in him to deny the bots anything. Clint calls it good practise for when the baby arrives.

The rest of the day passes without event. The officers call shortly before dinner, relaying the news that Mr Greene is refusing to discuss what happened and will not be pressing charges. Natasha looks relieved, even though she really had nothing to do with the attack. Sam and Thor make a delicious roast chicken (or five, judging by the fact the platter doesn’t seem to empty) that’s devoured in record time; the team, including the Asgardians, watch reruns of _Star Trek_ until Steve starts to drift off to sleep as he leaned into Tony’s side.

“Did you notice anything… _odd_ about Loki today?” Tony asks from the bathroom where he’s brushing his teeth. “And I don’t mean typical Loki-odd. I mean… different than Loki-odd.”

Steve yawns. “Maybe? I guess he did seem a bit happier than expected when Nat got the call from the cops. I just figured he was relieved that she – Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no.”

“What is it?”

“It wasn’t Clint and Sam. At least, not alone. He was involved.”

“Well, at least none of them are in trouble,” replies Tony with a shrug.

“That – that’s _not the point_. They could have gotten caught and thrown in the Raft. Besides –”

“Wait. How do you know about the Raft?”

“Nat and JARVIS told me about it. Am I not supposed to know?”

Tony slides under the blankets, curving his body around Steve’s. “I just wouldn’t mention it to Fury or the WSC. They might not be happy about it. But anyway, ignoring that… I know you have the most upstanding moral code known to man, but they don’t have that kinda code. The compass they follow is looser, less black-and-white, less strict. Let them do this, Cap. Okay?”

Steve sighs, nods. He knows Tony is right – on all aspects. But Steve can’t help but worry about possible repercussions. He slowly falls asleep to the sound of Tony breathing and the movement of their daughter.

 

 

Clint is perched on the island, watching Natasha cook (and most likely pestering her) when Steve enters the kitchen. Tony’s already left for SI, and Sam is finishing off a bowl of oatmeal. Bruce and Jane are at a convention of sorts – between the two of them excitedly rambling nonstop about it, Steve had gotten confused rather quickly, especially since neither of them were ever inclined to actually finish a sentence before starting a new one. Thor, Havardr, and Loki argue quietly in the living room.

Sam sets his bowl and spoon in the sink, letting his fingers brush the back of Natasha’s arm as he passes. She sends him a sweet smile before turning back to the stove. Clint mimes gagging, and Sam flips him off with a grin. He claps Steve on the shoulder and makes his way to the elevator.

“Sometimes I think we live in an armoury,” Steve says with a soft chuckle, picking up a knife and whetstone from off the dining table. “I’d say this is all just the way it’s done in this century, but I really don’t think the average family has this many weapons just lying around.”

“Don’t worry, Cap. Baby ’Venger won’t get to ’em. They’ll be put up, scout’s honour.”

“Clint, you were –”

Natasha has her knives out of Steve’s reach and in her hands before Steve can blink. Her shoulders are tight with tension as she storms from the kitchen. Clint lets out a low whistle. Steve turns toward him, confused.

“What’d I do?”

Clint shrugs, taking the pan off the hot burner. “Damned if I know, just give her time to cool off. You want any breakfast?”


	19. chapter eighteen

The armour sets down gently on the landing pad, and Tony sighs blissfully as he steps out of it. The wind is brisk, but thankfully it’s a short walk into the penthouse. It’s been a long, boring, _exhausting_ day; between fighting with the Board over the latest “crisis” (not even an actual crisis, for God’s sake, just them worrying about whether the stock is prepared to take a hit) and basically coddling the idiots in R &D until they produced the right specs for the latest StarkTab, Tony is wrung practically dry, and he wonders if one teeny-tiny drink would be considered falling off the proverbial wagon that is Sobriety.

Blissful warmth surrounds him the instant Tony passes through the door. He pauses just inside, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath. Once he feels slightly less tense, he makes his way through the penthouse to the bedroom. He comes to a stop in the doorway.

Steve sits on the bed with a leather-bound book open on his lap. In his hands is a faded photograph, the edges ragged with age. Tony sighs silently before padding across the room. Steve doesn’t bother looking up as Tony climbs onto the bed. James Buchanan Barnes smirks up from the sepia-tinted picture.

“I wish he could be here,” Steve whispers. “He would love this. The technology, the easy access to all these different cultures… He probably wouldn’t be so thrilled about us trusting Loki, though.”

“To be fair, none of us were that thrilled about us trusting Loki. Bucky would love the fact he’s getting a niece, though, right?”

Steve laughs quietly, “Oh, yeah. He’d’a been over the moon about it. He’d spoiled her rotten, teach her all sortsa bad things. Yeah, he woulda been so excited.”

“I’m sorry he couldn’t be here for this.”

Tony’s chest aches at the longing and heartbreak on his partner’s face. He pulls at Steve until the blond is leaning against him. Tony rubs a hand over Steve’s back, smoothing circles into warm skin. Steve lets out a shaky breath.

“I think I messed up with Natasha this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

As Steve recounts what happened in the kitchen, Tony winces. He knows exactly where Steve went wrong. It’s Natasha’s decision as to whether or not her fears get exposed, so Tony only promises to talk to her. He holds Steve as long as the blond wants, which turns out to be another ten minutes. Steve gives him a wan smile, slips the photograph back into his book, and clambers awkwardly off the bed.

“Where are you going?” asks Tony as Steve puts the journal in the nightstand drawer.

“I’m gonna take a bath, clear my head a bit.”

Steve disappears into the bathroom before Tony can respond. _Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t want to talk about my day,_ Tony thinks with a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. He orders JARVIS to tell Steve that he’ll be back then leaves the room to find Natasha.

She’s back in the sunroom, this time with a bottle of vodka. It’s started raining sometime between Tony coming home and now. He bypasses the chaise he sat in last time, sits on the floor beside her. She gives a quiet snort when he asks if she’s okay.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be after being reminded of how completely unprepared I am for this baby, and it’s not even _my_ child.” She sighs, taking a swig of vodka from the bottle she brought. “I… Between that damn interview and then Steve’s comment – I’m assuming he told you what happened?” At Tony’s nod, Natasha smiles without humour. “It’s surprising, really, how I can easily slip into dozens of roles, never lose track of which mask is for what reason, can be whatever I need to be for ops, but I can’t do it now. I keep making mistakes. I’ve never been this far out of my depths before.”

“Welcome to the club. But, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great. So you’ve left a few knives out _once_. You learn from your mistakes, so it won’t happen again. Plus, you have a few months to really absorb that lesson.”

“What if I do it after the baby’s here?” she whispers.

“JARVIS will remind you if you want him to.”

Natasha lets out a laugh, shaky and indicative of just how scared she really is. “How are you so good at this?”

“Steve, mostly. What can I say – he’s rubbed off on me.”

He leers at her, a playful gesture at the innuendo, and she smiles, shaking her head. Tony plucks the vodka from her hands and inspects the label. It’s an expensive drink, Russian through and through. He takes a swallow, feels it burn all the way down. An errant thought drifts into his mind, and he freezes with the bottle hovering in the air. Natasha takes the bottle back, giving him a puzzled look from the corner of her eye.

“You okay?”

He jerks, nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“But…?”

“Oh, God, I’m gonna fuck this all up. Even with you there to stop me from turning into Howard Two-Point-Oh, I’m… I’m even less safety-conscious than anyone else in the tower, _including Clint_. If anyone’s gonna screw this kid up, it’s absolutely going to be me. I’m going to fail, and this child is going to hate me.”

He exhales unsteadily. They pass the vodka back and forth, not speaking as they dwell on their own fears. When the bottle is empty, Natasha pulls a new one from behind her. Tony doesn’t ask for the bottle, but she hands it back after every three swigs.

“Clint was trying to cheer me up,” she states suddenly. “He kept saying things like –” Her voice lowers, somehow managing to sound similar to Barton’s. “‘I was raised in an abusive home then the circus, and _that_ was bat-shit crazy, but I turned out pretty okay.’” An inelegant snort breaks up the quiet. “Pretty okay, my ass. He’s a _menace_ , Stark, a magnet for trouble, even when he’s locked in medical. He has zero self-preservation skills. He was shot by Coulson after he landed on SHIELD’s radar. I damn near slit his throat when, instead of killing me as ordered, he decided to try to recruit me, to get me out of the Red Room. He falls out of buildings without having any sort of backup plan. What would make him think any of that is him turning out ‘pretty okay’? What would make him think I’d find that comforting _at all_?”

“That… That is the complete opposite of comforting,” Tony protests. “He’s terrible at advice, absolutely terrible. Why does he try?”

She shrugs. “He has his moments, few and far between though they may be.”

“We should really start baby-proofing this place,” he quietly announces after a few minutes of silence.

Natasha meets his gaze, and they hesitate for only a second before saying simultaneously, “Tomorrow.”

 

 

For the next week, Tony heads to the sunroom once Steve is asleep. Natasha brings the beverage of the night, and Tony supplies snacks. They don’t drink two bottles of vodka in one sitting again, not after he fell asleep with his cheek smashed against the window and woke up sprawled across the floor, body aching and head pounding and Steve staring down at him with clear disappointment. So Tony apologised profusely, promised to stick to only nonalcoholic drinks, and crawled himself into the nearest shower.

Natasha has freaked out since the other night; spending a couple of hours the next day, putting childproof locks on everything on the communal floor, helped alleviate her anxiety. She even sat in the workshop with Tony researching anything relevant to raising a baby. Steve and Sam had been shocked when she’d declined joining them for their weekly brunch, even more surprised when she’d followed Tony to the ’shop.

They’ve talked about everything from the baby to their pasts, and with each passing hour, Tony feels closer to Natasha. They had a rocky beginning to their acquaintanceship, but he finds that easy to ignore in light of the actual friendship they’ve forged. Outside of the sunroom, they’re the same as they have been – witty banter and heatless threats and hidden affection – but here, they both let down their masks, at least a little, at least for a while.

“Pardon the interruption, Sir, but Ms Potts is looking for you.”

At Natasha’s shrug, Tony gives JARVIS the go-ahead then goes back to eating his Chinese food and mocking the inaccuracies in the newest action flick. Pepper raises an eyebrow at them as she steps through the door; she toes off her heels, collapses into a chaise, and sighs heavily. Tony passes over the lo mein and a pair of chopsticks, smiling at the way her stomach growls at the smell.

“So why are you hiding out in here instead of being in bed with your pregnant boyfriend?” inquires Pepper after she’s swallowed her first bite.

“Natasha needed Tony-Time.”

Pepper stares at him flatly before turning her gaze onto the other redhead. “Nat?”

“Tony and I have, quite surprisingly, bonded over… certain similarities, so we come here and talk when we can’t sleep.”

“That’s nice. Honestly, I’m just shocked you two get along enough to spend so much time together.”

“Yes, well, having the same fear of screwing up the baby’s life tends to bring people closer together.” Natasha shrugs nonchalantly, though Tony can see how much the admission pains her. “Between how I was trained and his childhood…”

“I can see why that would be a fear for both of you. At least you had warning that Steve was undergoing a gender-swap –”

“Body, body-swap,” Tony interjects. “He’s still Steve, all the way to his core. It’s his body that’s different.”

“Okay. Be that as it is, _I_ didn’t find out about it until _after_ it already happened.”

“You _didn’t tell_ her?”

Tony gapes at Natasha, mouth opening and closing a few times. Finally, he manages to force out, “In my defence, we were a little preoccupied with the planning and figuring out how the fuck this was even going to happen.”

“Wanna know how I found out?” At Natasha’s far too enthusiastic nod, Pepper points her chopsticks at Tony. “I walked in on him and some blonde making out in the workshop. It took a lot of alcohol before I believed him that the blonde was actually Steve.”

Natasha laughs, a soft melodic sound. “I’d kill to see video of that.”

“I’m sure JARVIS can arrange that. Seriously, though, you guys are gonna be fine. Nat, you’re an expert at adapting to new situations and making the appropriate choices, and _you_ , Tony, you tackle any obstacle in your way. You may make mistakes, but you learn what _not_ to do incredibly fast. Plus, you’ve got each other and the rest of the team to keep you from screwing up too badly. You’ll be okay.”

“Thanks, Pep.”

“The vote of confidence is appreciated,” Natasha adds with a thankful smile.

Pepper suddenly gasps. “Oh God, am _I_ going to be able to do this?” She continues quietly, almost like she’s speaking to herself, “I have no idea how to do this. How am I going to juggle the schedules?” She stares at Tony with wide eyes. “I have to make sure you’re not gone too much, but there are a lot of important duties that you absolutely can _not_ just ignore!”

Tony pulls Pepper into his arms, ignoring the panicked rambling of _“I don’t want to overload you”_ and _“How am I going to do this?”_ A bottle of whiskey is pressed into Pepper’s hand; Tony doesn’t even ask where Natasha had gotten it from or where she kept it hidden. He merely grins at the usually-unflappable facade Pepper usually exudes being utterly torn apart, holds her tightly, and comforts her as she and Natasha drink the liquor silently in the glow of the city lights.


	20. chapter nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I posted a chapter yesterday, but I got some terrible news this morning, and I needed something to keep my mind distracted, so here it is. The penultimate chapter.
> 
> Now I'm off to wait for details for my grandmother's funeral.

Steve winces as another kick lands solidly against his ribs. Sam pats his shoulder sympathetically and guides him to sit in a chair. With a promise to be quick, he hurries inside the cafe, leaving Steve to soak up the sun alone.

By Doctor Cavendish’s calculations, Steve is thirty-five weeks along, thankfully nearing the end of the pregnancy. He’s loved the experience, enjoyed so much the feeling of the baby growing inside of him. It’s made having sex a bit awkward, especially during the last few weeks, and the so-called “morning” sickness has made a comeback, but overall, it’s been an amazing experience. He doesn’t think he’ll want to do it again, though.

Sam returns five minutes later with their drinks and fruit-and-cream-cheese danishes. They sit quietly, eating without speaking; a few people stop, ask Sam for autographs and pictures. No one pays attention to the pregnant blonde with him, and Steve is thankful for that. He normally doesn’t mind conversations, but he’s exhausted. He hadn’t even really wanted to come out today – staying home and napping sounded like a better plan – but he'd let himself be convinced that going out was a good idea, even with his swelling ankles and sudden inability to cope with the humidity of summer in New York. So here he is, sitting in the July heat with one of his best friends as they attempt to spend time together in peace.

“You can always tell New Yorkers from the tourists,” Sam remarks after another trio walks away.

“Yeah, tourists give a damn who you are.”

“Exactly.” Sam pulls his buzzing phone from his pocket, grimacing at whatever's on the screen. “Shit, man, I gotta go. Emergency with a patient.”

“That's fine. I'll call Happy in a minute, have him drive me back.”

“You sure?”

“Sam, I'll be fine. Go.”

Sam hesitates, visibly debating how to proceed, and Steve laughs softly, shoos him away. A hot wind blows, pushing Steve's hair from his face, and he takes a sip of his iced tea. The danishes are long gone; with a sigh, he digs in his bag for his own phone. Happy answers on the second ring and promises to be there as soon as possible. As he's waiting, Steve catches sight of a used bookstore across the street. He tosses his napkin into a recycling bin and heads toward the crosswalk. A hand latches onto his elbow, and he startles, turning to see a gentleman in his sixties smiling apologetically.

“Sorry, Miss, didn't mean to scare ya. I just wanted to help you cross.”

“I've got it, thanks.”

The man doesn't let go; his grip tightens as Steve tries to tug his arm free. “Now, now, calm down. I'm just trying to be nice. Don't be rude.”

“Hey, let her go.” A woman, not much older than Tony, steps up to Steve's side, glaring at the other man. “No one has the right to grab another person without permission. Now scram.”

To Steve’s surprise, the man lets go, turns on his heel, and walks away while spitting curses. The woman watches him with a triumphant gleam in her hazel eyes before turning to Steve.

“You okay, sweetie? Men can be real scumbags sometimes, right?”

Steve nods slowly. His heart rate is steadily dropping to a more normal pace. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“No problem. Us girls gotta stick together, ya know. Oh, watch your step. Where ya going?”

“Uh, there.” Steve points, trying not to hit the pedestrians walking with them.

“Oh, that bookstore’s great! Their selection is amazing, and their prices can’t be beat. I’m just coming from that hipster clothing shop down the street – my son didn’t bother telling me none of his pants fit any more, so here I am shopping on a beautiful Saturday when I’d much rather be curled up on the couch watching _Desperate Housewives_. I –”

Steve hears the sound of a heavy door sliding open, and instinct – stupid, thoughtless instinct – has him putting his body between the woman and the cargo van. Hands roughly pull him off his feet, and he tries to wriggle out of the tight hold, but before he can get free, the door slides shut, and the van starts moving. Someone presses a strip of fabric over his eyes, and it finally clicks: He’s been abducted. He stops struggling against the heavy weight on his legs, starts paying attention to the movement of the van. Unfortunately, his abductors seem to know what they’re doing. There’s a sharp pinch in the crook of his elbow, and a wave of disjointed euphoria washes over him.

By the time the van comes to a stop, Steve has pretended to be unconscious for the better part of an hour, and they are far from the city. He keeps his body limp as he’s carried from the vehicle. The cot he is set down on is stiff, uncomfortable; Steve resists the urge to squirm.

“Where’s Don? He was supposed to be here already.”

“I don’t know, do I look like his damn babysitter?” A sigh, then: “Let’s just hurry up and do this already. You know she’s gonna be noticed missing soon if she hasn’t already.”

“Fifteen minutes, then we will.”

Steve waits until he hears footsteps going up a set of stairs, then opens his eyes. The ceiling above him is unfinished: Pipes and wire crisscross the underside of the boards. There are only two bulbs hanging from the rafters, but they put off plenty of light. Concrete blocks, painted a deep blue, make up the walls surrounding him, and the small windows near the top tell him he’s in a basement. Voices near the stairs, and Steve hurriedly closes his eyes again. He tenses when he recognises two of the voices.

“Glad you could finally join us, Don.”

“Oh, shut up, Mal. Ain’t like I was too far behind. I had to make sure I wasn’t followed. Unless you want the goddamn Avengers stormin’ in here before you get that baby.”

“Of course I don’t,” Mal, the woman from earlier, snaps.

Steve’s stomach churns. He’s seen enough movies and news coverage since he came out of the ice to know what’s going on. He’s barely made the decision to speak up when his shirt is pushed up, exposing his belly to the warm air, and cold gel is squirted onto his skin. The sound of a rapid heartbeat echoes in the otherwise quiet room, and he forces himself not to panic.

“Heart’s fine, and development looks good,” announces Don. “Get the scalpel.”

Steve’s eyes snap open at the clatter of surgical equipment, and Mal gasps. The blade drops to the floor and goes unnoticed as she gapes in shock. _This would be funny_ , Steve thinks, _if she wasn’t trying to take my fucking baby_. He struggles to sit up before either of them can react. Unfortunately, Don gets his bearings rather quickly, shoving Steve back onto the cot.

“Get more anaesthesia.”

“It could kill her!” protests Mal even as she reaches for a syringe.

Don stabs Steve’s arm with the needle, depresses the plunger, and Steve inhales sharply as the effects of the medication rush through his body. His vision blurs, and his body suddenly feels too heavy. Mal rushes to tear a new scalpel from its packaging. Steve screams but no sound comes out; the scalpel drags across his skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and tears slip from the corners of his eyes.

A window-rattling _bang_ explodes from upstairs. Mal’s face turns white, and Don barks for more sedatives.

“Any more, and it’ll harm the baby!”

“Then go fucking stall, so I can do this.”

“Don, the shock –”

“Yeah, I know, no matter what I do the bitch dies, and maybe the baby, too.”

“I suggest you step away from the pregnant lady.”

_Tony_. Steve has never heard Tony’s voice so cold, even tinny as it is. He manages to fight the drugs enough to turn his head, and he stares at the gleaming suit of armour. Tony has both hands up, repulsors aimed at each of Steve’s captors. Loud bootsteps echo down the stairwell as a large group of black-clad agents storm into the room. Natasha’s first to appear; she looks absolutely murderous, and her guns are steady in her hands. She lets the SHIELD agents pass her to snap cuffs around Don and Mal’s wrists. Once they’re taken away, Nat rushes to Steve’s side. Her fingers tremble as she places them against his neck. Steve can feel the sedative wearing off, replaced by a tightening in his belly. He gasps and reaches for her hand. Clint enters the basement and grimaces.

“Let’s get outta here. News vans and NYPD are starting to show up.”

He helps Natasha pull Steve into a sitting position; her hands are gentle as she cups his face, stares at him with eyes that are too bright.

“Are you okay? What’d they do?”

“Sedative, that’s all,” he slurs. “They didn’t get her, though.”

“No, baby, they didn’t. She’s still inside you, right where she belongs.”

“Not for long,” he whimpers at another bout of overwhelming pressure. _Contractions_ , his mind supplies.

Nobody moves or speaks for about thirty seconds, then the basement is filled with pandemonium. Tony immediately moves to Steve’s side, shedding a gauntlet on the way. His skin is blessedly cool against Steve’s cheek. Loki suddenly appears behind Natasha; he and Tony start arguing over the quickest, safest way to get Steve to the hospital. Clint shoves his way through, tugging Steve to his feet as gently as he can while being quick about it. With a guiltless “Sorry” to Tony, he pushes Steve into Loki’s arms.

“Go. Now.”

 

 

Steve’s in a private delivery room, hooked up to IVs and monitors by the time Tony rushes in. Doctor Cavendish rolls her eyes, but Steve thinks it’s uncalled for; after all, Tony’s at least taken off the armour before barreling into the room.

“Will Captain Rogers be joining as well?” asks the doctor with a knowing smile, but Steve doesn’t really care, can’t care, past the fact that their daughter is trying her best to make her way into this world.

“He’d love to, but he’s squeamish.”

“Okay, Stephanie, you’re almost there, all right? Just take a few deep breaths, try to relax.”

Through his third contraction in ten minutes, Steve grits out, “Not as easy as it sounds.”

“I know, but hopefully Little Miss will make this easy on you. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

Tony grips Steve’s hand as the door swings shut. “You’re doing great, darling.”

“I’m scared,” whispers Steve as he squeezes his eyes shut against tears. “She’s not supposed to be coming yet.”

“I know, but we’re at the best hospital with an amazing doctor. They all know what they’re doing, okay? They wouldn’t be letting you deliver her if they thought it would go wrong.”

“They tried medicine to stop it. It didn’t work, obviously.”

“It’s all right, I promise.”

When Doctor Cavendish finally gives him permission to start pushing, Steve’s thankful beneath the exhaustion. _I can’t do this_ , he thinks even as he follows instructions. Tony runs his fingers through Steve’s sweat-soaked hair, murmurs praise and encouragement; his hand stays firmly in Steve’s through every push, every cry of pain, though Steve is certain there’s no way it’s not hurting Tony.

“One last time, sweetie, you can do it.”

Steves bites back the curse at the doctor, ignoring the urge to just give up, and manages to find the strength to push. He can feel it the instant the baby’s feet slip free; he collapses back to the bed with a gasp. Tony smiles down at him, tears in his dark eyes.

“You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“Is she okay? Why isn’t she making any noise? _Tony_ –”

“They’re clearing her nose and mouth now. See, she’s fine.” Tony glances away, staring at their now-screaming daughter. “Oh, darling, she’s beautiful. You did so well.”

“Mister Stark, would you like to cut the cord?”

Tony kisses Steve’s forehead, murmuring an “ _I love you_ ” into the skin there, and steps away. Steve can’t see their baby through the nurses, but he convinces himself not to panic. He can hear her clearly, and besides, Tony would tell him if something is wrong. So he relaxes, catches his breath.

Tony crosses the room once the last nurse leaves, sits on the edge of the bed. Steve presses a button on the remote until the head of the bed is raised. Tony was right: Their daughter is gorgeous. Dark wisps of hair poke out from under the stretchy little cap she wears, and her cheeks are surprisingly chubby for her premature arrival. Steve strokes a finger softly across her forehead.

“We did it,” he whispers, and his partner grins widely.

“Yeah, we’ve got our girl. And you,” murmurs Tony to their sleeping baby, “are not allowed to _ever_ leave the tower, got that?”

He kisses her head, and Steve wants to protest Tony’s “rule”, but he’s interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. Tony smiles, reaches for his hand, and tells him to rest. For once, Steve doesn’t argue. He falls asleep staring at his little family.


	21. chapter twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it - the final chapter. I've enjoyed writing this fic so much, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. There **_are_** more parts coming, just 'bonus content' and extra scenes that didn't quite fit into the main portion of this fic. So be on the lookout for those~

Natasha sees him first, immediately jumping to her feet when he comes into sight. The rest of the group follows suit, and Tony can’t contain his proud smile.

“She’s here. No complications, and completely healthy!”

He pulls his phone from his pocket, thumbs open the picture gallery, and shoves it toward them. Pepper grabs it before anyone else can; he stands there and basks in the glorious sounds of his family cooing over the newest addition. Thor, Sam, and Pepper are misty-eyed as they scroll through the photographs he’d snapped of his daughter as she slept peacefully in his arms. Coulson shakes Tony’s hand, congratulating him, and Clint surprises Tony by pulling him roughly into a tight hug before disappearing. Sam and Thor follow close behind. Pepper wraps her arms around Tony’s neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, her voice cracking, and he pulls back a bit to see she’s crying.

“Hey, what’d I say about getting tears all over me?”

“Not to, unless it’s the day your baby girl is born. Then you don’t care, because it’s such a wonderful, happy time, and you’re not going to ruin it by being an ass.”

“Exactly.” He pulls her close. “Thank you.”

“When can we see them?”

Tony glances at Coulson as Pepper steps away. “I’d give it a bit. There may not have been any complications, but it took a few hours for him to dilate completely. They’ve got him using the bathroom before they move him to a recovery room. Did you know that’s a thing – after giving birth, you have to have a bowel movement before you can be transferred? Because I did not know that. Anyway. Give us about an hour, and I’ll come out and get you.”

Pepper kisses his cheek and dabs at her eyes with a tissue. Natasha’s embrace is quick but warm, full of unspoken emotions. He squeezes her hand gently then turns to head back to the room. His body feels lighter than it has in years; he can’t stop smiling. He stops outside the nursery window, searches for his baby. She’s asleep in the plastic bassinet, swaddled in the blankets the hospital provided.

Tony is unable to remember a time he’s ever been this happy. It certainly never happened when he was a child, and as an adult, the only ‘happiness’ he found was fabricated with drugs, alcohol, and the revolving door of never-ending bed partners. Falling in love had never been in the plans, especially not falling in love with _Steve_ , of all people. Tony’d meant to extend an olive branch by inviting the Star-Spangled Ass to live in the tower, which was just a smart idea for two reasons: One, less of a delay of action in case of an emergency, and two, it wouldn’t hurt to have Captain America on your side. But spending time with the epitome of perfection turned into spending time with Steve Rogers which turned into less fighting and more getting along, and somewhere between the first time Steve met the bots and their first real conversation that wasn’t full of mindless small talk, Tony had leaped over the line separating ‘platonic’ and, well… _this_. Now he’s in an amazing relationship with that beautiful boy from Brooklyn, and they have an absolutely gorgeous daughter together.

“Mister Stark?”

“Yeah?”

The nurse – _Sherri_ , her nametag announces– smiles brightly. “Ms Crawford’s been moved to her recovery room. If you’d like, we can bring the baby in to you.”

“That’d be great.”

“Okay. Follow me then.” She leads him through the corridors, steps confident. “Congratulations, sir.”

“Thank you. I’m a very lucky man, aren’t I?”

“I agree completely. Babies are wonderful additions to your life – at least, if being a parent is what you want. If not… Well, we strive to help people make the best choices for their lives.”

“And that mindset is why we came here.”

Sherri gestures toward a closed door. “This is it. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your daughter.”

Tony knocks on the door, waiting a moment before opening it. Steve looks away from the television, smiles when he sees Tony. A plush recliner has been placed by the bed; Tony crosses the room and sits down. He immediately reaches for Steve’s hand.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like I just had a baby.”

The answer and the mischievous grin on Steve’s face force a chuckle from Tony. “Oh, are you _sure_ that’s what happened?”

“I think so.” Steve pauses. “Where’s the baby?”

“Sherri’s getting her. Please tell me you’ve eaten dinner.”

“Yeah, after they got me settled in, the cafeteria sent a tray up. It didn’t last long.”

“Good. You needed it. God, I can’t believe we’re parents.”

“It _is_ kinda terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Beyond measure, but I’m also excited.”

Steve smiles, leaning toward Tony; Tony obliges him with a kiss. “Same here. Are the others here?”

“Yep. I told them to give us an hour before they storm down the door. Don’t be surprised when they don’t give a shit about you.”

“I expect nothing less from our family.”

Sherri wheels in the bassinet five minutes later. Once she double-checks the ID numbers on their security bands, she scoops up their daughter and places her carefully in Steve’s arms. It doesn’t surprise Tony when the blond’s eyes start swimming with tears; he can’t even find it in him to make a joke, not at such a tender moment. Instead, he takes a picture (or twelve) as Steve stares down at their baby.

“This beautiful little one needs a name,” Sherri reminds them softly.

 

___________

 

A quiet gasp breaks the silence of the room, and Tony grins as Pepper wipes away more tears. The rest of the team files in after her; Tony can smell the antiseptic foam from where he sits halfway across the room. Rhodey’s already sent congratulatory texts and his regrets that he couldn’t get time from the Air Force to be home with them. Clint and Thor are carrying chocolate cigars, all wrapped up in pink and blue foil. Coulson holds up his phone, silently asking for permission. Tony nods. Coulson’s been here since day one and has never so much considered telling Fury the truth about Loki being Captain America while Steve was pregnant – he hasn’t even used it as a _threat_ – so denying him the chance to take a photograph of his newborn niece would be cruel.

“She’s so darling,” murmurs Pepper as she gazes down at the baby. “Can I hold her?”

Steve’s lips twitch into a small smile. “It’s only right for the godmother to hold her first.”

“So what’cha say, Nat?” Tony adds.

Natasha blinks slowly, and everyone turns to stare at her. The surprise bleeds from her face within seconds, replaced by cautious hope.

“You want me to be her godmother?”

“Yeah, definitely. You.”

It’s a testament to how well Tony’s come to know her that he can see her internal struggle of doubt. He’d known she’d be shocked – he’s overheard all of them talking over the past few months, debating who was going to get that place of honour; they’d all reached the same conclusion of “ _Pepper_ ”. And under other circumstances, it would’ve been true, but Natasha is the one who’s spent so much time with him lately, has kept him sane through all of Steve’s hormone-induced mood swings and his own panicking that he’s not ready to be a father. Tony’s never had such a terrifying best friend before; not even Pepper reaches the same level as Nat.

Before she can say anything, Tony takes the infant from Steve and places her in Natasha’s arms. The redhead’s are suspiciously bright, and there’s a slight tic in her jaw, but she looks directly in Tony’s eyes and nods once. Tony kisses her forehead and steps back.

“So what’s the munchkin’s name?” Clint asks from over Natasha’s shoulder.

“Sarah Maria Stark-Rogers,” replies Steve proudly, and their family makes approving noises.

Sarah’s woken up by now, and her eyes, so blue and so like Steve’s, cross a bit as she takes in her surroundings. Natasha eventually passes her off to Pepper, though it’s a reluctant move. Tony sits on the edge of the hospital bed and watches his friends, his _family_. It’s been a long time coming, but he finally feels like he’s right where he belongs.

 

 

 

The team slips out of the room around nine, promising to come back the next day. Sarah has been fed and changed, and now she’s sleeping in Steve’s arms again. Tony’s phone lights up from where it lays on the table, but he ignores it in favour of curling his body around Steve. His fingers stroke across their daughter’s delicate features, and his heart feels overly full. There’s something that’s nagging at his brain, however. He sighs.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I… Look, I love Sarah already, have since you told me you were pregnant, but let’s just keep her last name at Rogers, okay? Please?”

“ _What_? Why?”

Tony shrugs uncomfortably. He knew Steve would question the decision, but he hadn’t counted on feeling so awkward and clumsy when it came to explaining. He keeps his gaze on Sarah as he speaks.

“I want her to have a better life from the start, and that means giving her one less connection to my past and all the wrong I’ve ever done. The best way to do that is to give her the last name of a great man, a _real_ hero, and keeping mine out.”

Steve stares at him intently; Tony resists the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. Finally, Steve’s expression softens, and he smiles that sweet, understanding smile that Tony loves so much.

“You _are_ a great man, Tony, and a damn good hero. You’ve done everything you can to make up for the legacy that Howard left you.”

“I helped keep that legacy alive.”

“Only until you realised all the harm that legacy was causing, then you put a stop to it. Tony, you turned the entire company around with one press conference, no matter how many people bitched and complained or how many points the stock dropped. You did the right thing with SI, and you became Iron Man to save people. If that’s not a hero, then I don’t know what is. You’re a wonderful, caring, intelligent, fiercely loyal man – not to mention, gorgeous – and you’re gonna be a fantastic father. That’s why Sarah is going to have both last names.”

“I’m not gonna win this argument, am I?” asks Tony after a long pause.

“Absolutely not. Now get some rest. You’ve been up since four this morning.”

“You’re the one who did all the work.” Tony presses his lips to Steve’s temple. “How about a compromise? Let’s put Sarah in the bassinet, and then we’ll _both_ sleep.”

“You have such great ideas, Mister Stark.”

“Genius, remember?”

Steve laughs quietly as Tony drags the crib close to the bed. Once Sarah is settled, Tony nudges and pushes at Steve until there’s enough space on the bed for the both of them. It doesn’t take long before the events of the day catch up with him. He yawns into Steve’s hair, sighs as exhaustion takes over.

“I love you,” whispers Steve sleepily, and he snuggles closer.

Tony barely manages to respond with “I love you, too, darling” before he’s asleep, warm and content and aware of just how incredibly fortunate he is in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay~ 
> 
> If you look up there in the **tags** section, you'll see I put "Body-Swapping (of sorts)", "pregnancy", and "kid!" This is because of the method through which Steve wants to have a child. There's no mpreg - technically.


End file.
